


For We May Hope

by Aragem



Series: Hope, Faith, and Love [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Abuse, Alien Biology, Alien Culture, Alien Invasion, Alien Sex, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dark, Bisexual Male Character, F/M, Galra Empire, Galra Keith (Voltron), Heterosexual Sex, Human Trafficking, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Mind/Mood Altering Substances, Original Character(s), Pregnancy, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rebellion, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Assault, Sexual Slavery, Torture, m - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2018-09-21 21:44:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 34
Words: 173,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9568040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aragem/pseuds/Aragem
Summary: Through a divergence from canon, the Lions have not been found nor has Voltron been formed.  Instead, two years ago, months after the failed Kerberos Mission, the Galra Empire invaded and claimed Earth as their own.  The subjugated humans are forced to eke out an existence under Galra rule, though there are those who fight for a better future.Told through multiple POVs and settings, stories of survival and bravery is interwoven into a tale of hope.Katie “Pidge” Holt hunts for clues for her missing family while infiltration a Galra munitions factory for the resistance.Lance and Hunk are members of the resistant sent on a mission, collaborating with a drug dealer and smuggler who may be more lethal than the aliens they fight.Shiro is still a gladiator slave of the arena, fighting for the entertainment of the Emperor, but finds aid and hope from another human captive.Keith, a loner by choice and destiny, developes an unlikely friendship with Thace, a Galra lieutenant who finds the youth as intriguing as he is attractive.





	1. Katie

“Dr. Michel wants you to come back next month,” Katie Holt said, looking up from the chart. “We’ll schedule your echocardiogram for then.”

“How much do I owe?” the elderly patient began digging through her purse with gnarl hands thick with arthritis.

“Don’t worry about it. You can pay what you can next time,” Katie said kindly, while thinking there had been too many next times for too many patients.

If Dr. Michel wanted to keep this place open and keep the Galra soldiers looking the other way when they brought in medicine from outside their district, then they were going to have to start collecting money at some point. Yet, each time Jenny, the nurse practitioner, tried to broach the topic Dr. Michel would tell her not to worry as they would get by somehow. Katie noticed each time he said that, he looked more tired than reassuring.

She set the appointment for next month and saw the elderly patient to the door before locking up for the day. With a quick look at the clock, she saw they had one hour to clean up before they had to be on their way home before curfew. Jenny was already getting the cleaning supplies from the broom closet and giving out instruction as if it was their first time cleaning up.

“Katie, vacuum the lobby and when you get done with that clean the windows. Sammi, you can sweep and mop behind the counter and whoever gets done with her job first, can wipe down the counters with disinfectant and then the seats.”

Katie turned her head to rolled her eyes without being seen. They knew how to clean up at the end of the day as they had done it almost every day for the last year, or at least since she joined the staff. Jenny returned to the back rooms to help Dr. Michel finish up and to give the rooms a quick cleaning. Katie suspected that she sometimes spent the night on the office couch when she needed to give the rooms a more thorough cleaning.  It was a risk as the Galra locked down the districts at night and anyone caught outside of curfew without an after hours pass was severely punished.

Katie kept her eye on the clock while cleaning. She was anxious to get home for some much needed rest before her shift at the factory, but she knew that someone else was watching the clock with absolute dread. Sammi cleaned the floor behind the counter with hunched shoulders as if to ward off blow. She was a head and shoulders taller than Katie with long dark hair tied back in ponytail. Mr. Michel hired her a month after Katie and at first, Katie didn’t like her at all. Back then, Sammi had been annoying with her flirtatious behavior towards any man that came through the door and leaving work she considered boring to Katie; especially the end of the day cleaning.

But then something happened to Sammi and she became very quiet; barely saying a word to patients she would have happily chatted with in the past and always shooting furtive looks at the windows and door whenever it opened. Last week, she was able to take off the wrist brace.

Katie didn’t know whether she liked this new Sammi or not. She was more willing to work and less annoying, but now it seemed so sad. Katie didn’t like seeing her like this, even more so after she learned what led to this sudden change.

“Katie,” Jenny called from the back door. “Could you take a look at the ultrasound? It’s been acting up again.”

“Sure, give me a few minutes.”

The ultrasound machine was a relic from the 2030s before every doctor’s office had their own MRI scanner, but when the Galra came they disallowed certain technologies in human hands, including advance medical technology was banned. Thankfully, Dr. Michel’s clinic had an old sonogram machine in storage which helped in diagnoses, but couldn’t match the details of the MRIs.

Since Katie was the only technician on staff, she was called to fix the AC, malfunctioning computers, and medical equipment. It was a fun, but tiring job as most everything in the office was beginning to fail, needing her attention more often as time went by with slim changes of getting replaceable parts.

Jenny watched her run diagnostics on the computer, fidgeting anxiously. “What can we do to fix it?”

“Other than getting a new ultrasound,” Katie said reading over the results. “Nothing much. Replacing the motherboard might buy us a few more months with it.”

Jenny moaned, “I have no idea where to get one now. We can’t exactly go online and order one anymore.”

There was no more internet. The Galra dismantled all the networks and servers and the public was only allowed used the heavily monitor Empire intranet. Any orders for equipment for clinics or public buildings had to go through their local requisitions office and they only granted requests they deemed necessary. Thus far, advance medical equipment wasn’t on that list.

Jenny looked hopefully at Katie, “Is it possible that you could . . .acquire one?”

Katie swallowed, taking a nervous glance at the nearby window and open door. She wished Jenny wouldn’t say this out loud where anyone could hear. Sure, the office was closed and locked, but it still made her nervous.  She made a quick hushing motion with one hand and said in a quiet voice, “I’ll see what I can do.”

After a quick look at her watch, she hurried to the front where Sammi was putting away the cleaning supplies. “Sorry, I got caught up with the ultrasound. Are you ready?”

Sammi visibly swallowed nervously, “I’m ready. Let me get my purse.”

Sammi didn’t like walking home anymore. Not after what happened to her. Katie remembered when Sammi finally returned to work and how Jenny quietly took her to the side and asked her walk Sammi home after work each day.

Katie had been taken aback by this request, “Why?”

Jenny pursed her lips, not wishing to speak, but she plodded on, “Sammi doesn’t feel safe walking home by herself anymore. She’s terrified of the Galra.”

When the Galra took over, they split the country, all countries, into districts partitioned into areas for civilian living, working, and imprisonment. Travel between districts was against Imperial law unless special permission was given, but one would have to go through partitioned sectors via checkpoints where passes were scanned and bags checked and sometimes body scans were done. The process wasn’t comfortable, but it was such routine that the Galra soldiers didn’t really bother her save for a few rude remarks to provoke someone in the hopes of brightening a dull day by arresting someone.

“So is everyone else, but they pretty much leave you alone if you follow the rules.” Then Katie realized, “Sammi didn’t follow the rules, did she?”

Jenny again pursed her lips as if she could hold back what she didn’t wish to tell Katie. Then she said firmly, “I told Sammi I might have to tell you and she’s okay with it as long as you promise not to tell anyone else. Do you understand?”

Jenny gravely told Katie what had happened to Sammi. One evening, after Sammi had left work early, she went out to meet a boy for a date that lasted long after curfew had started. Jenny’s face harden into a scowl, “And that little bastard let her walk home through the business sector alone. Maybe if he had been there or not let her go out . . . anyway, a Galra patrolling the streets caught her out after curfew and . . .” Jenny hesitated, even taking a moment to look away, as if to delay the worst part of the story, “one of them assaulted her.”

Katie felt her blood turn cold. In the wave of guilt, she instantly regretted any bad thought she had about Sammi. Jenny continued; Sammi had somehow made it to the clinic and on that night Jenny and Dr. Michel were still there for late night cleaning. They treated the lacerations and bruises on her body and put a brace on the sprained wrist. She spent the day recovering upstairs and Jenny walked her home. She nearly went into hysterics when they drew too close to a Galra patrol.

“She’s a lot better now, but she’s still scared and she needs this job, but I don’t have time to walk her home each day. I live on the other side of the district and I won’t be able to get home in time for curfew myself,” Jenny said. Her voice spoke kindly, but needful, “I know you and Sammi aren’t friends, but it would really help out if you do this for her.”

“I’ll walk home with her from now on,” Katie promised. “And I won’t tell anyone.”

So each day, they silently walked home together after work. Sammi didn’t speak, casting nervous glances at the streets as if fearing her attacker would materialize. Katie didn’t know what to say to her and used the silent walk to think.

She made sure it was in her bag at all times. It was sitting at the bottom inconspicuously next to her wallet, hairbrush, eye drops, tissues, and hair scrunchies. It fit in with the rest of the items, but it was something the Galra would arrest and execute her for having. It had gotten through the checkpoint numerous times, but each time a bored Galra looked in her bag, her heart would pound until he waved her along.

Each day the contact didn’t show up at the checkpoint. The encrypted message told her to look for a dark haired woman at the checkpoint between districts. Each day, Katie would come through with her eyes peeled, but never saw her contact. She was beginning to wonder if perhaps the plan had changed and they didn’t see fit to inform her.

She thought of this as they made their way, their shoes kicking up dirt and litter. The Galra saw no reason to pay for any sanitation department once took control of the area. Most businesses were shut down when people fled Galra occupation to free cities outside of alien control, but those free areas were short lived when the technologically advanced alien forces overwhelmed the US military, destroying it save for a few pockets of resistance. The walls of the sector could be seen for miles as tall metal walls. The Galra say it was for their protection from rebels, but everyone knew it was to keep them under control.

As they drew close to the checkpoint leading into the civilian sector, Sammi drew close to Katie who touched her arm reassuringly. Most times, they could pass through without a Galra soldier looking in their direction, being more interested in whatever they were viewing on monitor or in deep conversation with a comrade. With passes in hand they approached the checkpoint and swiped the plastic id cards under a scanner which flashed green granting them entry.

Katie sensed the tremor flutter through Sammi’s frame and obligingly held her hand out for Sammi to take.  When her hand was squeezed tight, she led the taller girl through the tunnel of the checkpoint. There was usually low traffic at this time of day so it came as some surprise to hear chatter several paces from them. It was muffled as if coming from a room next door. There was a window almost opaque from the sunlight beaming from the other end of the tunnel. As Katie walked by she saw a woman with shoulder length black hair talking to a Galra soldier.

Katie’s heart skipped a beat. Was she the contact?

When they near the end of the tunnel, she drew her hand from Sammi’s vice like grip, “Go ahead, I need to head back for a bit.”

Sammi wouldn’t have look more frightened than if Katie had threaten to kick her off a cliff. “Katie, I – I can’t . . .”

“It’ll just be for a few minutes, okay. I’ll catch up, I promise.”

Before Sammi could say another word, Katie dashed back with her bag clutched to her side. Thankfully, the tunnel was free of soldiers and no Galra would see her drawing close to the window and reach into her bag.  She took out a tube of lipstick which she removed the top and twisted the bottom. Once the lipstick was fully extended, Katie pulled it out of the bottom revealing a hollow tube where an ear bud was coiled. Tapping it onto her palm, she unraveled it while keeping an eye out for any incoming soldiers.  Sticking the single bud into one ear, she took the other end of the wire and held it against the wall, just below the window. The voices inside increased in volume and she could hear them clearly.

A deep Galra voice said, “230.”

“Why do you wanna hurt my feelings for?” a feminine voice said with a slight southern twang “500 or I walk out now and take my supply to the next guy who ain’t gonna insult my product.”

What are they talking about? Katie peered cautiously from the corner of the window. A Galra soldier, standing at a solid seven and a half feet, was towering over the woman with dark shoulder length hair. She was wearing black jeans with a white shirt that showed off the curves of hips and a toned stomach. Though she was inside, she was wearing reflective black shades.

A travel bag with small plastic baggies scattered around it seemed to be the topic of the exchange. The Galra held one of them, sifting the puce color powder inside. Katie squinted, trying to get a better look without giving herself away. Was that Gall powder?

When the Galra came, they brought their own drugs and narcotics with them. It didn’t seem they had any laws against using performance enhancing drugs and so they frequently used a powder that acted as a steroid they mixed with a beverage. Someone had taken the steroid and cut it with meth and cocaine to form a drug that not only granted enhanced performance, but also gave the user a euphoric high.  It became just as popular with humans as with the Galra.

“I can do 350 and that’s as high I’ll go,” the Galra decisively tossed the baggy on the table. His amber eyes switched between the dark hair woman and the drugs. He wanted them, but he wasn’t willing to lose in negotiations with a human.

The woman made a show of sighing in resignation and shoved a hand into her pocket. She withdrew a wrinkle pack of cigarettes and tapped one out. She took on a thoughtful pose as she lit it with a brass lighter and took a deep drag. After pocketing the lighter and pack, she exhaled a stream of smoke as she spoke, “Tell ya what, I’ll let ya have the lot for 300, but I need something to sweeten the deal.”

“Like what?” the Galra said suspiciously.

“I want the patrol along the west wall delayed at 2:00 AM, tonight.”

Katie held her breath, expecting the Galra to arrest the woman on the spot. There was a long silence and Katie felt sweat breaking out on her brow.

“For how long?” he said cautiously.

“Twenty minutes.”

Again, there was a long silence.

“I can give you ten minutes,” the Galra said slowly.

The woman said, “Then we have a deal.”

A gac chit was handed to the woman who plugged it into a wrist com and once the value was confirmed, the soldier scooped the baggies into a large violet hand and deposited them into a metal container on a high shelf. The woman pocketed the chit and hefted the bag over a shoulder and headed for the door. Katie quickly rolled up the ear bud into one hand and shoved it into a pocket. She bent down as if she was tying her shoe to disguise her actions.

The door whispered opened and the woman came out.  She walked around Katie with the smell of cigarettes following her. Katie looked over her shoulder and was startled to see the woman’s shades directed at her. The woman flashed her a bright smile and pushed the shades up with one finger showing off blue eyes that reminded Katie of husky dogs.

“Hey, sweetie,” the woman said, her white teeth flashing through a friendly smile. “This is really embarrassing, but my, uh, Aunt Flo has made an early visit and I’m in need of a pad.”

Katie swallowed. This was the contact after all. “I’ll trade ya a pad for a cigarette.”

The woman’s smile brighten and she took the packet of cigarettes from her pocket, “Sure, hon, you can have the rest.”

Katie stood reaching into her bag, her heart pounding. If the Galra figured out what they were exchanging, they would be arrested and taken away to the work camps or put against a wall and shot.

Katie held out a sanitary pad wrapped in soft blue plastic. It really was a pad, but folded within was slip of paper containing Galra security codes she stole from their mainframe at the munitions plant. Inside the cigarette pack, which Katie now realized was the same one the woman had been waving beneath the Galra’s nose, was an USB drive containing the list of humans who were arrested and sentenced to work camps on other planets. She could feel the solid drive through the aluminum paper and shoved it into her pocket. “Thanks.”

“No. Thank you,” the woman never stopped grinning. “By the way, I heard that we’re going to have clear skies tomorrow night. Is that true or is the weather forecaster pulling my leg?”

Katie swallowed, glancing around, her pulse skipping. This was too much! Exchanging secret packages and passwords within a checkpoint and right under the Galra’s noses!

“I think it’s true. It’s usually dry this time of year,” Katie said hastily, “Though sometimes we’re surprised by rain.”

“Ah, have a good day then,” the woman said shouldering her bag.

The woman left headed towards the business sector and Katie hurried in the opposite direction. She slowed her trot to a steady walk, her shoes clopping on the pavement, and drew slow breaths to calm her thumping heart. There was no sound of pursuit nor klaxons screaming, so their exchange had went unnoticed.

She came to a sudden halt and looked around for Sammi. Did she go home by herself? Or was she waiting somewhere? As much as Katie was eager to get home, she couldn’t leave if Sammi was still out here on her own. Katie began walking frantically, not in the direction of home, but towards the park.

It was next to the public school that stayed open only to teach kids on becoming civilians of the Galra empire. Along with math, English, and PE, the students were taught Galra history and how to be loyal subjects of Zarkon’s ever growing empire. The park was usually empty this time of day, especially when it was close to curfew. However, right now there was someone sitting on a swing. Sammi was rocking back and forth with her feet planted firmly on the dry ruts from years of kids kicking off the dirt. Katie almost ran to meet her, so relieved she was to see Sammi.

“Hey, I’m sorry about that. I got hung up,” Katie said, catching herself on the swing set pole. “Hey, are you okay?”

“No,” Sammi said, kicking at a dirt clod.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to leave you alone . . .”

Sammi pulled her arms around the chains of the swing and kicked off, letting herself swing with her feet off the ground. “It’s okay. I made it here by myself. I used to play here when I was kid.”

“Really?” Katie wasn’t interested in Sammi reminiscing about her childhood; she just really wanted to go home.

Sammi shoved the heels of her shoes into the dirt, digging up shallow dusty trenches in the soil with soft crunches. The chains rattled and twisted as Sammi turned in the swing to look at Katie with somber eyes. “Do you - do you think I . . .deserved what happened?”

Katie blinked. “What?”

“I shouldn’t have been out after curfew. My mom told me not to go out at night.”

It was like Sammi was dropping heavy stones in her stomach. The data chip was forgotten in the brunt of Sammi talking about her rape. No, she didn’t want to hear this, but she feared that if she ran away or refused to listen, it would cause Sammi more harm.

“No, I don’t think it’s your fault,” Katie said, firmly. “They’re all bastards.”

Sammi stared at the school. On the brick walls was graffiti of purple figures in metal armor saluting the Imperial emblem. It was a sharp, angular like a sharp weapon.

“I hate all of them. I want them all to die,” Sammi muttered, staring at the graffiti. “Someone should just invent a virus that’ll kill all of them. Like a plague. Just kill ‘em dead where they stand.”

A cold swing blew across Katie’s neck. Rubbing it, she checked her watch and saw that curfew was looming closer. She didn’t have her after curfew pass with her and Sammi didn’t have one at all. It would be dangerous for both of them if they lingered out here any longer.

“Sammi, let’s go home, okay?”

“Okay.”

* * *

When Katie returned home, she didn’t have much time, so she ran upstairs with a brief shout to announce her arrival and locked her bedroom door behind her. The Galra had confiscated all computers and mobile devices to curb communications, but Katie had been able to build a computer since she was five.

It had taken months to locate all the necessary parts, but she managed to put together a laptop she kept hidden beneath a loose floorboard in her closet. She barely turned it on before punching the chip into a USB slot and moaning at how long it took to boot up and load the operating system. She swallowed a growing lump in her throat as the program finally loaded.

There wasn’t a search function, but there were dates.

She sorted the takes from earliest to latest and looked at the first three names.

_ Matt Holt _

_ Dr. Samuel Holt _

_ Takashi “Shiro” Shirogane _

_ Bridget Walsh _

 


	2. Shiro, Bridget

The pulse throbbed in his neck. His true hand was so sweaty he feared he would lose his grip on the sword. His other hand, the one of metal, tapped a tattoo on the rock he was using as cover.

Foolish. He had been too slow leaving the gate and had taken what he had believed was the most direct route to the weapons cache without remembering that this arena had pitfalls and had realize it nearly moments too late. He had came to a skidding halt just a hair before a hidden door dropped opened and a foul odor of animal musk assailed his nostrils. If he hadn’t been clued in by the sudden screams of a hapless gladiator, falling to his death, then he would be among those in the pits impaled upon spikes, boiling in acid, or eaten alive by some hungry alien beast. The Galra loved death traps.

Now because of the delay, all he could get was whatever was left in the weapons cache, a short sword, whereas his opponents made off with the guns, long swords, and spiked clubs. His best bet now was to stay hidden and hope the other gladiators finished the majority of themselves off, before he had to join the fray.

No such luck. He barely rolled out of the way before a club with six inch spikes formed a crater where his head had been seconds before. Rolling onto his side, he swung the sword and regretted the satisfaction he felt when it found flesh. His alien opponent, a bulbous figure with a single eye, shrieked epithets and brought the club around, but it was too heavy for the smaller alien to maneuver. Shiro ended him with a quick thrust through the chest, shoving the blade into where he believed the heart would be.  Two years in the arena had taught him that not all alien hearts shared the same location as humans.

When the alien died, a roar thundered from the thousands in the audience. It was so loud, he feared he wouldn’t hear the next opponent coming at him. He abandoned the hiding spot, picking up the club and tossing it down a pit along the way to keep others from finding and using it against him.  The club did appear to be more lethal than his sword, but he had no experience wielding the heavy thing. That was a mistake most newcomers to the games made; they thought bigger and more lethal meant the better their chances of survival, which couldn’t be further from the truth. Any weapon was useless if one didn’t know how wield it as these hapless souls were learning at the cost of their lives.

Shiro heard the pop of a pistol and veered away. The pistol carrier was becoming quite confident in this battle royale, snapping off shots randomly. Sometimes a target was hit and a pained cry would echo across the arena, much to the delight of the audience. Was the pistol Galra brand or Quinez tech? Galra guns tend to carry more ammo charges than Quinez. So the shooter could be either shooting for a while yet or may find himself out of ammo at a crucial moment.

Shiro leapt across a pit and skidded for a second before catching his balance. Turning a corner at a rock outcropping, he nearly ran into an opponent. Shiro’s blade whistled, cutting the air, but stopped just short of the gladiator’s throat. 

It was a kid.  The alien was humanoid with stock of tangled dark hair with violet skin. From his facial structure, he may have been part Galra or an off shoot of the species. It was hard to judge the different races ages, but Shiro guessed the boy couldn’t be any older than thirteen. Clutched in both hands was a stubby dagger, the last weapon in the cache that even the latecomer Shiro had passed up. It quivered in the kid’s hands.

Shiro lowered his blade, “Hide.”

The kid took off in a cloud of dust much to the audience’s dismay. The air was filled with jeering and boos and from the corner of his eye, a video drone hovered over him, recording his every move; both his mercies and kills. The crowd didn’t like it whenever he was merciful and he may pay for it later with a whip across his shoulders later.

An alien landed on him with razor sharp claws piercing through the prisoner garb and he spun on one heel to slam her against a rock and pinned her there. With a spin of the sword he stabbed her side from the front and her scream nearly ruptured his ear drums. He dashed forward just as a pellet whistled past his ear, letting the alien body slump, bleeding.  A short rodent like creature holding a gun with both claw like hands screamed at him in a sibilant language and took aim. Shiro ducked behind a rock and heard the granite being peppered with slugs, chips of rock arching overhead. Shiro waited. He got a good look at the pistol and now recognized it as Galra design and eventually it would . . .

The creature hissed in irritation when the gun clicked empty and then screamed in terror when Shiro whipped around the rock at full sprint.  Legs pumping, he gathered speed and jumped. The rodent froze in horror and the sword cut neatly through the neck and cranial spine. Shiro hit the ground before the head did and barely had a moment to catch his breath before defending himself from another attack.

There was no passage of time in battle royales. It was just movement, instinct, pain, and the kill. Faces spun past his vision; faces etched with pain, fear, rage, and sometimes relief and gratitude. All of them alien, misshapen, and other times, too frighteningly human.

_ Champion! Champion! Champion! _

The cheers were for him. The battle royale was almost over and that meant it was now at its most dangerous point as the stronger and cleverer fighters have weeded out the weak and stupid. And sure enough, ahead of him was a pure blooded Galra brandishing a long sword. Shiro took a moment, and only a moment, to wonder what this Galra did to get thrown into the arena and then attacked.

Their swords connected in a shower of sparks and the crowd exploded in approval. The Galra was good, real good, and wise in saving most of his energy for the final opponent. Metal scream as the swords glanced off each other and then connected again throwing more sparks into their wielder’s faces. The Galra had the reach and strength attributed to his people, but Shiro had speed and agility on his side. Within minutes, it was over: Shiro parried a strike and it went wide giving him an opening to finish it. The Galra hardly made a sound as Shiro push the sword in and up between the ribs. After so many fights, Shiro knew the right way to kill someone instantly, to cause the least amount of suffering, at least, most of the species he had encountered.

Satisfaction passed through the Galra’s eyes as he passed. It had been a good fight and he has lost to a worthy opponent. When the Galra fell, Shiro dropped his sword, panting, now feeling fatigued and every ache in his body. He was too exhausted to be glad he had survived yet another battle royale.

_ Champion! Champion! Champion! _

Wait. The crowd was still cheering him on. No. The battle royale wasn’t over yet. There was another . . .

A body smashed into his from behind and searing pain spread through his lower back. With unthinking action, he spun at the waist despite the dagger tearing his flesh, and ensnared a throat with his cybernetic hand and squeezed, crushing the trachea in one powerful squeeze. He froze when he recognized the face of the part Galra kid staring back at him with watery eyes.

Shiro let go and the kid fell boneless to the ground, choking and dying. There was panic in his eyes, a desperate fight to live despite the asphyxiation. Then came despair as the poor kid knew there was no way around what was coming. The eyes faded, no, not faded, empty, becoming a pair of eyes left open to gaze at nothing.

The crowd surge up in an ear splitting cheer. The fight was over was done and the Champion had won his 15th battle royale.

_ Champion! Champion! Champion! _

* * *

The knife only cut his flesh.  None of his vital organs were damaged and a perforated flesh was a simple fix for Galra medicine. Medical care was given to fighters who were able to victoriously walk off the field. Anyone else who had suffered a more grievous injury were either euthanized or left untreated to expire from their wounds.  

Shiro was restrained on a bed while a medical drone worked on him, suturing any cuts with dis-solvent stitches and coating any scraps with antiseptic. A foaming gel spread across the wound in his back, filling and packing the wound as it expanded, stymieing any bleeding while protecting against infection. Gradually, as his body healed, encouraged by fast healing meds, the foam would gradually be absorbed into the body as protein.

He would recover. He always did. Sometimes he wondered why he didn’t just let some aspiring opponent take his life and become their new Champion. On his worst days, he thought about dropping his sword, holding his arms up to embrace whatever method his opponent chose to fell him. Yet, the moment he stepped into the arena, the second he saw his opponent bearing down on him, then his visceral survival instinct took over.

The medical drone pressed a hypo-gun to his side, just above where the skin was red and swollen. It hissed as chemicals was pushed through his skin in a jet of compressed air resulting in a small stinging sensation and then the pain began ebbing away until it was almost gone which surprised him as painkillers weren’t usually given to gladiators.  With the drugs in his system, he was able to sit up easily when they released his limbs, his wrists were snapped into a set of shackles. His back injury only complained with minor soreness, already mending and quieted with anesthesia. His head swam a bit, drained from the burned adrenaline after a hard fight.

“You did great, Champ,” Bunto, the shortest Galra Shiro ever seen, toddled in, brushing past the drone sterilizing medical tools. His head barely reached Shiro’s hip when standing and bristly dark purple hair that rose up in tufts that reminded him of a man trying vainly to hide a bald spot, but instead brushed upwards to appear taller. “Emperor Zarkon enjoyed the show. He sends his congratulations on winning your 15th battle royale.” He said this in a whisper, as if telling a child that Santa was on his way.

Shiro cared little for any felicitations from Zarkon.  “That kid in the arena . . .why was he there?” Shiro asked softly. He remember the desperation of death in the kid's eyes.

“You mean that guy you ganked in the end?” Bunto said examining his appearance in a reflective surface of medical machine. He was brushing his hair upward, squinting at himself with bright yellow eyes. Why Bunto was assigned to him as caretaker, Shiro had no idea. He was a loud, boisterous thing that rode the coattails of Shiro’s success as the caretaker of the Champion.  Being caretaker, he made certain Shiro received his meals, kept his cells clean, and received medical treatment between each bout in the games.  He was assigned to Shiro shortly after his first success in arena, after Myzax.  

“Yes,” Shiro’s eyes was drawn to the floor, cold and dirty, stained with the old blood of past combatants.

“Dunno his name,” Bunto said taking a mini-datapad from his hip pocket and tapped a few icons on the holo-screen. “Some pickpocket from planet Vos. Made the mistake of getting caught stealing from a Galra officer. Poor brat got sent straight to the arena in, like you say, do not pass go, do not collect 200 gac.”

“Damn,” Shiro muttered. Poor kid was probably stealing to survive and because he filched from the wrong pocket, he was sentenced to die violently. The kid’s days were numbered the second he was arrested.

“Since Emperor Zarkon is so happy,” Bunto said with smirk on his lavender face as if he was the one that made his Emperor so happy. “He’s arranging a reward as a show of his appreciation for your ever continuing success in the matches.”

Shiro closed his eyes as he remembered past rewards for services rendered. Sometimes, it was a meal of good food instead of nutrient paste, other times it was to bathe in a hot shower with actual soap, not nose wrinkling cleanser. 

“Tell him he can keep it,” Shiro said bitterly. “I want nothing.”

“Oh, I think you’ll want this,” Bunto rubbed his hands together gleefully as if he were getting the reward himself. “One of the courtesans is coming to pay you a visit.”

“And what would that be?” Shiro raised an eyebrow.

“You don’t know? Oh, dumb me, how could ya.” Bunto smacked his forehead, chuckling at his own mistake, “Courtesans are high caliber ladies chosen from the finest beauties across the galaxy to serve and, ahem, ‘entertain’ important somebodies within the Empire.”

Shiro looked at the short Galra, considering, then narrowed his eyes, “When you say chosen, do you mean they were taken from their planets against their will?”

Bunto shrugged as if Shiro was nitpicking at inconsequential details. “Hey, it’s an honor to serve the Empire, you know that. The ones that don’t like it at first come around in the end, if they know what’s good for ‘em.”

Shiro swore in bitter disgust, “No.  I will not accept this ‘gift’.”

“Oh, c’mon, Shiro, Champ, you can’t refuse a gift from the Emperor himself!” Bunto exclaimed with a visible bead of sweat rolling down from his bristles. If Shiro refused, then it would have to be him to deliver the message to one of Zarkon’s attendants and it was a great insult to refuse a gift from a higher official, much less from the Emperor himself. The messenger might find himself taking the brunt of any angry retaliations for the offense.

Bunto held out his hands in supplication. “If you don’t wanna touch her, then you don’t have to. You can talk to her or play that patty cake game you told me about.” Then playing on Shiro’s heroism, which Bunto deemed as heavily unnatural and unhealthy in any gladiator, he added, “And if you don’t take her, she’ll go to someone else who’s likely not interested in talking or patty cake, if ya know what I mean.”

Shiro was silent for several moments, his face impassive before he finally drew a deep breath and said. “Fine.”

* * *

After a hot shower, which would have been reward enough for Shiro, they gave him a change of clothes. It was another prisoner’s bodysuit, but it was new, free of any tears or stains. Wearing it made him feel physically clean, lighter as if he had shed layers of sweat and grime. And then, all too soon, they cuffed him from behind in a cruel reminder of his imprisonment.

Despite his trepidation of meeting a sex slave, he couldn’t help finding this outing somewhat enjoyable. He had never been taken to the upper levels, save for the Druid labs, and being able to stretch his legs beyond going between his cell and the arena felt good. For a moment, he considered the notion that this was all a trick to get him to go willingly to the labs; that Bunto was put up to telling him what they would think would be an appealing excursion from his usual routine.

His fears were dismissed when the elevator took them further up several floors, beyond the labs. The guards seemed disinterested in their task of taking him to what they perceived as a one night tryst, for which they could take no part, and they were the loyal Galra soldiers of the Empire and he just a lowly slave. He was nudged a little harder than necessary once the elevator opened out into a long hall lined with doors.

“Which one?” One guard asked the other.

“43 Theta.”

“Let’s go.”

Again, there was a hard poke from behind above his injury. He flinched, but didn’t make a sound as he stepped forward. Yes, there was definitely a note of resentment in that jab. Shiro kept his face bland, but took a spiteful bit of pleasure that he was receiving a privilege that lower rank grunts could only dream of attaining. There was going to be a lot of jabs in his back before this was done.

The room lay down the hall and around a corner. Shiro wondered if these were quarters for soldiers and whether the room was being borrowed or was chosen due to being vacant.  Two figures appeared from around a corner at the opposite end of the hall, an armored Galra and a smaller alien draped in cloth.  The taller figure wore a different set of armor from his two guards. It had the similar build with armored chest and knee high boots, but the metal was pearl white and designed in a sleeker, ornate style. The helmet had a blue visor band that gleamed in the low light of the interior hall lights. The armor was more for aesthetics purposes than military combat. It still carried the Empire crest at the shoulder, but below it was a symbol that made him think of a flower with sharp angular petals.

Beside him, the second figure was draped in a gown in different shades of blue from the top of her head to the skirts brushing the floor as she walked. The dress was form fitting from the neck down to the hips and flowed loose at the skirt and sleeves. A veil covered the lower part of her face, revealing only green eyes which were lowered downward until they lifted briefly to him. An emotion passed through them and they were quickly lowered when they drew close.

The two groups paused at the door of the assigned room. The guard with the sleek armor regarded Shiro with instant loathing. His mouth twisted in a near snarl and he stopped with an arm out for the courtesan to not only halt also, but to stand back. Shiro watched her eyes rise to shoot a flash of intense hatred at the Galra, then they lowered so quickly, he thought he imagined it.

“Problem?” One of Shiro’s guards said with a note of irritation in his tone. It was bad enough they had to bring a prisoner up to this level to sample a pleasure only the Elites received and now they were getting flak from the other party.

“He’s dangerous,” the sleek armored guard said. He lifted his visor up with a thumb and regarded Shiro with mismatched eyes. Instead of the usual amber eyes, his right eye was orange and the left white and they both fixed him a suspicious glare. “What’s to stop him from breaking her neck when they’re alone?”

_ Why would I want to break her neck? _  Shiro thought. He had learned, in the early months of his captivity, to keep his mouth shut unless directly questioned.  Speaking out of turn only got him a blow to the head or a fist to the gut.  Tasered if they happened to have a hot rod on hand.  

“We were ordered to bring him here. What he does to her is your problem, not ours.” the second guard said annoyed, eager to be done with the unpleasant task.

“And if he damages or kills her, then there’s going to be several hells to pay and not just for me,” the mismatched eyed Galra stated vehemently. “She’s a favorite with the Elites and they don’t like it when someone else breaks their toys.”

There was a thoughtful silence from the guards. It was true that the order to bring Shiro here came from the higher ups, but then again, if Shiro did harm the Courtesan, a Court favorite, then the blame could be laid at their feet. It wasn’t unheard of for orders to be dutifully carried out only to have those same orders later rebuked and followed with punishment on those who carried them out. And having several pissed off Elites could mean anything from being tossed into the arena to transfer to a remote outpost.

Shiro switched his gaze to the mismatched eyed Galra. He had long sideburns that arced forward beneath his eyes. There was a slight crook in his nose as if it had been broken a long time ago and hadn’t been correctly set back in place. Though his face was wooden, Shiro could see the pleased tilt at the corners of his mouth. His eyes caught Shiro’s and they darken for a moment. Shiro quickly dropped his eyes, knowing not to maintain eye contact for too long with Galra. They saw it as a challenge and they need little excuse to take out any frustration on slaves.

It was better this way. Just take him back to his cell, as he didn’t want to be around the courtesan anyway.  He saw the Courtesan’s green eyes suddenly narrow in determination, surprising him again.  With an oddly familiarly shaped hand, she lowered the veil and Shiro’s jaw dropped. He had seen numerous alien species during his time in the prison and he had been prepared for whatever lay behind the veil, whether it was some preternatural beauty or some beastly monstrosity, but not this.

A human woman.

Her skin had been powdered a purple color with the lips painted black, but it did nothing to diminish the humanity he saw in her face.  Almond shape green eyes looked at him pensively, her full lips worriedly tight at the edges.  The deep thoughtfulness disappeared from her eyes as her lips turned up in a friendly smile for the guards. She swept forward in a soft whisper of silks, deftly bypassing mismatched eyes when he tried to catch her arm. Her perfume floated around Shiro, warm and pleasant, like the ocean with a rich musk that made his throat tighten.  It harken back to days he had spent at the beach under a warm sun and cool breeze blowing across his skin.  Years in spent in the stagnated recycled air in his cell had ebbed eroded memories of being able to walk outside had been a thoughtless blessing he had taken for granted before Kerberos.

The woman approached him with hands rising slowly towards his face. Years in the arena had ingrained in him an aversion to being grabbed and he stiffened when her cool hands touched his face, lacquered nails stroking through the shaved undercut at his temples. Her lips were warm with a disarming smile.

“He’s not going to hurt me,” she said with a slight Irish brogue. “He may be a demon in the arena, but I’m sure he’s as gentle as an angel in bed. You’re not going to hurt me, are you, prisoner?” Her voice was low and sweet, like honey dribbling over flesh, but she called him prisoner with a clip in her tone, almost like an order, a reminder of what he was, but he could feel her nails press silent at his temples and her eyes beseeching him. Her lips, painted a dark red, moved ever so slightly, for his eyes alone,  _ Play along. _

He had to suck his tongue to bring moisture to his suddenly dry mouth before he could speak. “No.”

The woman moved her attention from him to the guards. Her voice was smooth and low, a bedroom voice, “You have a Va’lish accent; are you from the system K’nisha?”

From the corner of his eye, he noticed one of the guards taken back. “I was born in the K’nisha Capital City, Lemisha.”

The woman’s smile brighten, her eyes brightening in the excitement of finding this serendipity. “Then you were under the command of Commander Chavick during your cadet years.”

Again, the guard was surprised.  Shiro could see his mouth fall open, showing off the tips of sharp canines. “Yes, he was . . .”

“Your squad called him Old Sawtooth when he wasn’t around. He knew about that nickname.” As she spoke so casually, she kept a hand on the side of his neck. Her touch was light, but firm, almost making him lean his head to the side. She reached with her other hand for the guard’s. He didn’t resist when her smaller human hand with blunt, rounded nails cupped his larger clawed hand. Her thumb lightly rubbed where the wrist met the center of the hand, tracing a line to the middle of the palm. “Sawtooth mentioned he was putting together a task force to take care of a pirate situation in the Pyja systems. He probably doesn’t know that one of his old cadets is here in the Heart of the Empire.”

It was amazing the artful way she had taken control of the situation and attained the result she wanted. Being a ‘toy of the Elites’, did grant her some power, definitely more influence than a gladiatorial slave, so she was showing them that Shiro was her ‘toy’, so to speak. Though she couldn’t directly wield her influence over the guards, she could remind them she had that power and doing her a favor would grant them a boon as well. And a little seduction always helped seal the deal.

Shiro didn’t know which overwhelmed the Galra more: being touched by an actual courtesan of the Empire or the possibility of being promoted from prison guard duty to taking part in a task force. He recovered himself with a sharp cough and took his hand from hers quickly as if he feared being caught doing something illicit.  “I will have sentries posted at the door if anything should happen. We’ll collect him in three hours.”

The woman beamed, showing all the appearances of being beholden to the guards. The only one unhappy with this development was her escort. His mouth was set in a thin line with a hint of canines peeking over his bottom lip. With mismatched eyes focused angrily on the woman, Shiro feared that she might have overstepped her bounds and would be punished for it. He was relieved when the escort smacked the panel to open the door. “Three hours, Bridget. Not one tick longer.”

The woman’s demeanor changed to a cool response, “I know, Takor. I’m sure you’ll be counting the ticks.”

Behind the door lay a single room apartment with a Galra size bed, a small simple kitchen area with a table. It was empty and untouched, unmarked by a resident. No worldly possession or decoration, but it smelled fresh as if it had just been cleaned.  She was sent in first and Shiro stood in the open doorway while his shackles were removed. Just as he was rubbing the feeling back into his wrists, a heavy hand clamped on his shoulder and claws pricked his skin through the prisoner bodysuit.

Takor’s voice hissed in his ear like an angry snake. “Enjoy yourself, Champion.”

Shiro remained standing straight, not flinching or trying to protect his pained shoulder. The moment he tried to defend himself it would be perceived as an attack and he would be taken away and beaten without a chance to talk to the woman. Then he was shoved inside with a direct punch on the fresh injury at his back.  He yelped as he stumbled forward and would have fallen if the woman hadn't been there to catch him.  The door hissed shut, but not before they could hear a cruel snicker beyond them.

“That bastard,” she hissed throwing a heated look at the door.

He managed to stand straight, taking steady breathes and grateful for the painkillers still in his system that was pushing down the pain.  When it was at a tolerable level, he grasped her arm and stared into her face, seeing the familiarity that had now become so foreign in the two years of being around so much alienness.

“You’re the first human I’ve seen in two years,” Shiro said, feeling emotion welling up in his chest.

The woman dropped the guise she had worn for the Galra. Her confidence and charm dissipated into sorrowful longing.

“You’re the first human I’ve spoken to in a year,” her lips trembled, as if she wanted to say more, but the floodgate of emotion overcame her and tears rolled down her face.

Even though they were complete strangers,never having seen each other before that day, they embraced each other like lovers who haven’t seen each other in years. Her shoulders heaved in soft sobs, encircled in his arms. Shiro swallowed, wanting to speak, feeling a torrent of questions burning to spill out, but for now he could only hold her, feeling her in his arms and knowing she was real human like himself, from Earth, from home.

The reality of what she had been to the Galra hit him like a blow. She was so small, beneath the silks and the perfume that had been alluring before was now odorous. They had been brutal to him in his first days of imprisonment and he had been military, able to withstand such punishment, so they put him in the games. This woman had served other purposes.

_ She’s a favorite with the Elites . . . _

Bile rose in his throat as rage filled his chest and disturbing images played through his head, unwanted and unbidden.

“My name is Shiro.  Who are you?” He ask drawing back to see her face.

Her lips trembled as she spoke, “Bridget Walsh. You’re Takashi Shirogane, from the Kerberos Mission.”

“H-how do you know that?”

The woman drew back, but kept her hands on his arms, as if fearful that he would disappear if she didn’t hold onto him. “I remember seeing you on the news. They thought you all died on Kerberos.”

“No, we were here . . .” Shiro’s throat tighten as he remembered his first weeks as a prisoner of the Galra and the Holts. “They captured us on Kerberos.  Were you on the rescue mission?”

She shook her head, confused, “I was on Earth when they took me.”

“They went to Earth?” Fear spiked his heart.

Then she drew a sudden breath, “You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

She closed her eyes and shivering, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks. “I thought you would know . . .”

“Bridget, what don’t I know?” he said urgently, grasping her arms tightly, then releasing them, fearing he would unintentionally hurt her.

Bridget bit her lower lip, hesitating before she said, “They took Earth, Mr. Shirogane. It’s part of the Empire now. It happened months after you disappeared.”

The shock of her words thrown him.  It was as if the floor had disappeared beneath him and he was plummeting into a void. If the Galra could encroach on the edges of their solar system, then they would have certainly gone to Earth, to annex it into part of their Empire. He always knew it was an inevitability, but to know that it had already happened was staggering.

“How bad was it?”  He didn’t want to know, but he had to.  

“Bad.  The war lasted only a few weeks."

Was Keith still alive? Was any of the people he knew on Earth still alive? “What is it like now?”

Bridget pulled off the headdress and uncurled a long red braid from her neck. It hung down her chest and she toyed with the end as she spoke, her hands curling it around her fingers. He noticed the black collar around her neck, solid and dark like a brand at her throat. “Everything is under martial law. Food and medicine was rationed and they have strict curfews. Anyone arrested is sent to work camps and those places are horrible.”

“Is that how you ended up here?” Shiro asked.

Bridget was quiet for a long time before she answered, “Yes. I was arrested.”

He didn’t pry. There was pain in her eyes when she remembered and he had no wish to cause her more pain by making her reliving it. But there was one thing he needed to know. “Do you know where the others are?”

“Others?”

“Samuel Holt and his son, Matt Holt. We were separated after they captured us and I haven’t seen them since.”

Bridget wrung her hands fretfully.  Gone was the confidence and seductive charm she had wielded as he would a weapon, now she looked fearful and worried. “I’m sorry, I don’t know.  I only learned of you from the games so I assumed the others died in the arena before I was brought to the Heart of the Empire. I might be able to find out though. I could ask my patrons.”

“They would tell you?”

“Maybe. I . . .” Bridget looked away, color rising to her cheeks. “I have to be careful though. They mostly like talking about themselves.”

Shiro thought back to how she influenced the guards. “But what about out there? You had them eating out of the palm of your hand.”

“Those were just soldiers, from the lower rung of the Galra Hierarchy.  The Elites I serve are Commanders, Governors, and rulers.  I have to act a certain way around them,” Bridget explained, nervously tugging at her braid. “My job is to stroke their egos and if I try to change the subject to something that doesn’t interests them they might complain to Madame Flo and I’ll get in trouble.  I was just lucky to recognize that guard’s accent and he was young enough to have trained under one of my patrons.”

“Who’s Madame Flo?”

“She’s the head of Zenana,” Bridget dropped her braid and walked over to a machine set into the wall. Shiro noticed that it resembled a drink dispenser from a fast food restaurant or cafeteria. “That’s where the Courtesans are trained and housed. She didn’t like me entertaining you, but she couldn’t deny a request from the Emperor himself.”

“Your guard wasn’t happy about it either,” Shiro commented.

She paused at the dispenser, then for the second time, he saw her green eyes narrow in anger. “Don’t worry about him. He’s a bastard.” Then just like that, as if to change the subject as quickly as possible, she indicated the dispenser, “Do you want coffee? It’s alien coffee so it tastes different and thick, but it’s good.”

“Yeah, I could try a cup.” He was still reeling from the news of Earth, but military training taught him to push aside his emotions and focus on the task at hand and he had so many questions.

“What happened to the United States?  Galaxy Garrison?”

Bridget turned with a cup of coffee in each hand. “I don’t know when the Galra attacked communication was cut pretty quickly.  I know of some things that happened in Europe, but not much about the rest of the world.”    

Shiro drew a deep breath and thought of Keith. He would have stayed and fought, he was sure of it, but was he still alive? Without thinking, he reached out for the cup of coffee she offered, then realized he was reaching for it with his cyborg hand. He jerked his hand back, not wanting to frighten her with it.

As he drew back, he noticed the flash of hurt in Bridget’s eyes and she hastily set the cup on the night table. Then she walked a few paces away from him, clutching her coffee with both hands. He mentally moaned at himself. The first human he meets in two years and he unintentionally hurt her feelings. 

“It’s my hand,” he held it out, slowly opening and closing it with soft whirs. “The Druids took off my arm and replaced it with this. I didn’t want to scare you.”

She stared at it uncertain for a moment before lifting her gaze to meet his. “Why?”

“An experiment. I think this is a prototype for cybernetic prosthetics. The Druids sometimes experiment on prisoners with new technology they created.”

“Did it hurt?”

Shiro considered her question before saying, “No, it didn’t hurt.” There was no need to scare her with the truth.  He wasn’t sure if she believed him or not. He felt he had derailed the rapport they were forming and wanted to get it back on track. There were more questions and the one he wanted to ask the most was about her.

“Are you alright?” He started, looking her over for any visible signs of injury.

The red hair woman dropped her eyes and fidgeted with her braid again. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.” 

A heavy silence filled the room and Shiro regretted he had asked. Of course, she had been hurt. She may not have scars like his, but they were there in the reflection of her eyes. The way she crossed her arms, the way she found it hard to meet his gaze, and how her reassurances echoed with deception.

Though he didn’t wish to pressure her, he had to say, “Bridget, it’s alright. Please, don’t think I’ll judge you.”

She was quiet for a long time. Just when Shiro was about to apologize for pressing, she said quietly, “You're worst off than I am.  Zenana is fiercely protective of its assets.”

Shiro thought back to how she had attained what she wanted from the guards in the hall.  Though Zenana, whatever it was, had put her through hell, she came out of it with skills and abilities that she used to survive.  They’ve both been scarred from their time as prisoners. He had the physical scars on his body and she had the emotional scars on her soul, but they were both using what they had learned. His combat skills had improved dramatically since he first step foot in the arena. He had honed his skills and sharpened his instincts, adapting to new alien weapons on the fly to survive the matches. Bridget learned their political games and could maneuver through seduction and playing to their avarice. She maneuver through their web of intrigue and had learned how it all fitted together and how to manipulate the strands of the web to attain favorable outcomes.

A seed grew in him. It was small at first, but it had taken root when he first saw Bridget. He had an ally now. An ally who wielded some influence and had access to information that had been impossible for him to attain.

“Bridget, will they bring you back to see me again?”  He said suddenly, almost urgently.

“You’ll have to say how grateful you are to the Emperor and I’ll drop some hints that having me encourages you in the arena and that would please Him even more,” Bridget said thoughtfully.  Not noticing the sudden energy in his form.  

“How much time do we have left?” Shiro said surging to his feet. “Before your escort comes back?”

Bridget glanced at a digital clock on the far wall. It was gray with purple sigils that changed at regular intervals. “We have little more than two hours left.”

She could read Galra? Shiro filed this away for later, but for now it gave him a new surge of hope and energy. “Do you believe you can find Matt and Samuel Holt?”

She was taken aback by the sudden vigor in his voice. “I can try, but I can’t promise that I’ll learn anything useful.”

“It’s alright if you can’t find out where they currently are.  Leads on where they were sent will be enough,” Shiro assured her. “Also, do you know the layout of this place? I have never been any further up than the labs.”

“A little. Zenana is an R&R station orbiting the Heart of the Empire. I was brought here by shuttle, but this isn’t my first visit to the arena, so I know the way here from the upper hangars.”

Bridget wasn’t brought to the arena unless a patron requested her there. In fact, she had been on her way to visit another patron when she was suddenly withdrawn from the meeting and sent to the arena. It wasn’t until they had arrived planetside was Takor informed the reason for the sudden change in plans and he had been livid which explained the reception Shiro received earlier.

“It's not so much that I’m servicing a gladiator or a slave, but because you’re human too,” Bridget explained quietly.

Shiro wasn’t certain why that would matter, but he was too occupied with this newfound sense of purpose to pry any further. He had something to fight for, a motivation that extended beyond keeping himself alive. They spent the next hour talking and sharing information. They stood at the table and with a finger dipped in the syrupy coffee, Bridget drew an outline of a map to the upper hangars.

“A pod would be a better choice. They can’t go far, but they’ll get us out of the system and security there is light,” Bridget said drawing a circle around the area on her makeshift map. “But the biggest obstacle is that all the ships are keyed into Galra genetic markers. If you’re not Galra, then you can’t pilot their ships.”

Shiro rubbed his chin in deep thought. “Surely there’s non-Galra ships we could take.”

Bridget pursed her lips. “There are, but they have their own security as they're either slave traders or dignitaries seeking an audience with the Emperor.”

“Galra have diplomatic connections with other races?” Shiro asked intrigued.

“No, not really.” Bridget shook her head with a sigh, “What I should have said was that sometimes a representative of a subservient planet comes for an audience with the Emperor to beg for assistance with a disaster which is usually caused by the Galra in the first place.”

Shiro picked up a rag and wiped the sticky map away. “We need more information before we can move, but I’m afraid I can’t help you with gathering intelligence.”

Bridget offered him a kindly smile, “It’s alright. I do have better access to information than you do. I’ll memorize the way back to the hangar for next time.”

“Pay attention to sentries, especially the stationary ones. Try to count them and remember where each one is. Chances are we may need to go through them when we escape.”

Bridget hesitated before she said, “Do you think it’s really possible?”

Shiro considered it for a moment. It would be dangerous, no matter how they carefully planned it. So many things can and will go wrong and their chances weren’t that great to begin with.  Even if they made it to the hangar in one piece and manage power up a working ship, there was no guarantee he could out maneuver any pursuit.  Then he realized something else.

He hadn’t ask her if she was willing to take this risk.

“Bridget, if you don’t want to . . .”

“I do,” she said somberly. “I – I want to go home.”

“So do I,” Shiro swallowed, thinking of Keith. Was Bridget thinking of someone she had left behind on Earth also? “I’m not going to lie. No matter how much we prepare, our chances will still be slim. I can’t guarantee we’ll make it out in one piece or alive so I’ll understand if you don’t want to attempt this.”

Bridget shook her head. “No, I need to go home.”

“I swear I’ll do everything I can to get you home,” Shiro promised. 

Home.  The word was both sweet and foul at the same time.  It brought back memories of a time when there were no locked doors or cramp cells.  Keith was back there in those times, ready to go camping or just take a drive into town.  He would miss Keith and home so much it brought the tears he kept hidden in the dark.  Those tears had stopped long ago when a switch inside his head flipped from living to survive.    

A banging on the door startled both of them.  It was loud and rude as more force than necessary was used, as if the person behind the door was trying to force his way inside.  

“Bridget, time’s up!”

She looked at the clock again and then shot a venomous glare at the door. “We have five minutes!”

“You got two by my watch!”

“Bastard. He wouldn’t be banging on that door if I was with a Galra officer,” Bridgit hissed at the door, shooting a loathsome glared at it. To Shiro she said in a hush voice, “I’ll do what I can to convince Madame Floentha to let me see you again.”

Shiro nodded. If they were to escape, then it could only be done during their meetings together, though he feared this could be the last time he saw her.  “Be careful. Don’t do or say anything that’ll endanger you.”

“I’ll be fine,” Bridget replied with a soothing touch on his shoulder. “I’ve been doing this for a year now. I know what lines I can or can’t cross.” Then she crossed her arms, hands cupping the elbows. “I’m more worried about you.  You’re in more danger than me down in the slave pits.”

“Hey,” he said with a wry smile, “I’ve been doing this for two years.”

Before Bridget could speak again, there was more banging on the door. She whipped around and yelled, “It hasn’t been two minutes!”

“I’m coming in!”

“Damn him,” Bridget hissed under her breath.  To him, she said quickly, “Shiro, let them think we had sex, otherwise they’ll be suspicious.”

Before Shiro could respond, there was a click as the magnetic seals of the door releasing. They squeeze each others hands tightly, both fearing this would be the last contact they would have with another human being. They dropped hands just as the door opened.

Takor was standing in the doorway with eyes clouded in smoldering anger. He looked between them with deep suspicion and motioned for Bridget to come with a slash of one hand.

“We had a few more minutes,” Bridget said heatedly as she left Shiro’s side.

For a moment, Shiro was tempted to grab her wrist and keep her from leaving with the Galra. Not just out of fear of never seeing her again, but from knowing what could happen to her once she left. No, he couldn’t protect her, at least not right now.

“Time’s up anyway,” Takor glowered at her and raised a hand towards her face. Perhaps to inspect she was unharmed, but Bridget batted his hand away from her.

“I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me.” She stalked out of the room with a swish of her skirts.

Takor’s eyes were on Shiro and if it was possible for looks to kill, then Shiro would have been dead on the spot. With a sneer, he turned, catching Bridget by the back of the neck and led her away in long strides, ignoring her protests of his touching her which ended in a cry of pain. In reflex, Shiro charged for the door and was blocked by the two guards from the prison. Their guns were up and from one of their hands swung his shackles.

“Times up, lover boy, turn around.”

Behind them, he saw Bridget grimacing, touching the nape of her neck where a pink line glowed just above her collar. Takor was watching insidiously with a gleam in his mismatched eyes with a hand holding fast to Bridget’s shoulder. She looked over her shoulder, catching Shiro’s eye, and shook her head beseechingly, her lips forming the word ‘no’ over and over.  He stepped back, realizing that he had quite nearly fallen into a trap. If he made a scene now, tried to fight the guards to attack Takor, then any chances of them meeting again would vanish and that was the Galra’s intent.

Shiro swallowed back his outrage and turned around with his hands behind his back. The shackles snapped around his wrists and he was thrust back into being a prisoner again. He was pulled from the doorway by the arms and turned around so roughly he nearly tripped.

“Did you have a good time?” one of the guards prodded him in the back. “Was she as eager for your spunk as you are for blood?”

He clenched his jaw and averted his eyes. Bridget was standing right here listening and they didn’t have the decency to wait until she was out of ear shot before they started.

“Hey, I asked you a question.” The guard shook him so hard his teeth rattled.

Thankfully, the other guard, the one who came from K’nisha, stepped in, “We don’t have time for this.” Maybe his excuse was true, or perhaps, in Shiro’s mind, he didn’t want to offend Bridget and ruin his chances of a promotion.

They hauled him down the hall by the arms and he looked over his shoulder. Bridget waved at him, giving him a brave smile before Takor took her by the arm and pulled her along behind him, taking her in the opposite direction.

* * *

The cell was small with only a toilet and a cot set into the wall. The cot was a slab of hard metal with no cushioning for comfort. He had become accustomed to sleeping on hard surfaces. Laying on his side, he stared at the wall he had stared at for so many hours over the long two years, but instead of seeing the wall, he saw a future, a chance.

He considered himself an optimist, but he was not foolish enough to believe they could pull off an escape without severe risks. It sounded simple enough in his head. Attack the guards and Takor, get to the hangar, and fly away. Yet, there was so much that can go wrong. If the guards managed to alert security, the sentries would be on them within minutes. If they were able to fight their way to the hangar and get a working ship, could he figure out how to fly the ship before it was destroyed?

He thought of the sketch of the plan until his head hurt and realized he was obsessing over it to keep from thinking of what was happening to her now and being helpless of it sickened him. It was the same when he was separated from the Holts; the horror of imagining what was happening to them and knowing there was nothing he could do to help them.

And now he know about the Galra on Earth and Keith. Was he still alive? Did he die fighting the aliens or was he living in destitution or, worse, in an alien prison? He needed to go back to Earth not just for Bridget’s sake, but for Keith’s.

* * *

Bridget sat at the window that opened out into empty space, slowly unraveling the long braid. She watched his reflection, standing behind her, speaking to her via her own reflection.

“How did he seem?”

“I think he’s alright despite being in the arena for two years,” she said running her fingers through her hair, still wavy from being so tightly plaited for so long. “He’s already trying to come up with an escape plan.” Then she quickly added, “I didn’t tell him about you.”

“It’s not safe to tell him. At least not yet.”

Her hair sprang up like a coppery cloud over her shoulders. She stared at the woman looking back at her in the glass window. The woman was haloed by the expanse of stars beyond past the window. Closing her eyes, she remembered the sensation of Shiro’s arms and the wonderful human scent he carried. When he held her, it was like being back in  _ his  _ arms again.

She didn’t notice the tear rolling down her cheek until a clawed finger brushed it away. “Are you alright?”

She nodded, “He feels very sorry for me and I don’t know if that’s not worse than being disgusted by me.”

“He too bears the scars of the Empire,” he said in a soft voice, “He won’t judge you.”

“Maybe he’s just an exception,” she hated that her words came out as a whine. “Hold me.”

She pressed her face into his torso, her arms curling around his slim waist. Unlike most Galra, he had no fur, but smooth skin which felt good against hers. He knelt, enfolding her in his long arms, tucking her against his chest. She inhaled the stringent cleaning chemicals of the labs, but underlying it was his musk, sweet and male.

“When can I tell him about you?”  She breathed, her lips brushing his neck as she spoke.

“Soon, I hope.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments or Kudos is much appreciated. 
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr through RebelCourtesan muse blog.


	3. Keith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No major changes. Just correcting typos and a little rewording.

The truck rolled down the dirt road, sometimes hitting a pothole at such a fast speed the men inside would rock against the walls, clinging to their seats to keep from being spilled onto the floor. The supply crates rattled in shoulder high stacks and secured with cords that creaked with the rocking. The truck pulled up to the entryway of a Galra checkpoint. A soldier came forward to inspect the pass card of the driver while a second went around the back to examine the cargo and passengers: two men and a teen. The men were heavyset and grizzled with old tattoos on their arms, but the teen was light skinned with jet black hair hanging nearly to his shoulders. He kept his eye cast to the side, away from the purple alien shining a light at them and demanding to see ID cards.

The two men handed over their cards and the youth dug into his jean pocket and drew out a slip of paper. The Galra looked askance at the paper then at the youth. “This is a request for a worker’s pass.”

The youth leaned back with his arms loosely crossed over his chest. “Yeah, is something wrong?” It was just a hair short of being challenging.

The Galra clenched his jaw and tossed the paper onto the truck floor, near the youth’s shoes. “Turn this in to the local office and they’ll issue you a pass.”

There was a long pause and one of the men shifted uncomfortably. The youth stared at the paper slip for several heartbeats before finally leaning forward and picking it off the floor. The Galra, with a satisfied smirk, returned to the checkpoint.

Within minutes, the truck rolled through the checkpoint into the city, into District 88. After they were clear of the check point, one of the men leaned forward and thwack the youth across the ear. “Stupid kid! You tryin’ t’ git us all shot?! Them purple sons of bitches are mean enough as it is without you stirrin’ ‘em up.”

Keith clutched his throbbing ear and glowered at the man across from him, but said nothing. He turned his violet eyes towards the back of the truck, at the receding horizon. He thought back to his shack and didn’t feel any sort of pain at leaving it behind. He missed it shortly after leaving, but dwindling funds and lack of food prompted him to seek out work within the district. Being around other people made him uncomfortable, but that was poor excuse to a growling stomach.

Twenty minutes later, the truck pulled up in front of a warehouse and came to a screeching stop. The driver left the truck to cool while the youth and the men began unloading the crates. It was hard work and by the time all the crates were stored within the warehouse and more crates were loaded onto the truck, the men and youth was sweating. Keith had his jacket tied around his waist and his black shirt stuck to his body in wet patches.

It was an hour later when they received their pay and told to be back shortly after noon to get a ride out of the district. The men went to a local bar, one of the few allowed to serve at daylight hours, and the youth headed to the local Galra office. A post office had been refashioned into a Galra labor office after the fall of the US government. The interior had the AC going at full making him shiver as the wet patches on his shirt turned cold. A heavyset Galra was sitting behind the desk watching something on a holo-screen. It prattled on in the alien’s language and unfamiliar shapes flitted across the screen.

The youth laid the paper on the counter, “I need a pass and an ID.”

The Galra pulled himself away from the screen, “What? Oh, fine. One tick.” He picked up the paper and scanned it then turned to a computer, typed out several commands and then turned a microphone towards the youth. “Pronounce your name into the recorder.”

The boy leaned forward bringing his lips close to the mic, “Keith.”

“Bare your wrist.” The Galra held up a tubular device.

Keith hesitated, then slipped the fingerless glove off his hand and held out his wrist where the blood veins showed through the pale skin. The Galra pressed the tip to the skin there and pressed the plunger. The device hissed and Keith winced at the stinging sensation as blood misted into the tube. The Galra deposited the blood sample into a small chute at the corner of the desk then collected Keith’s fingerprints.

Keith slipped his glove back on and pulled on his jacket, ready to be done with the office until someone flashed across the holo - screen; a very familiar face.

Keith froze, his violet eyes widening in shock, before he lunged forward, nearly stretching across the desk to see better, startling the Galra who snatched the gun at his hip.

“Back up!”

“Wait, wait, who is that guy! On the screen!” Keith jabbed a finger at the dark hair human with a flash of white in his hair was dashing across an arena like field.

Galra blinked, but didn’t lower his gun as he looked at the screen. “That? That’s the Champion.”

He was different now. He had a scar stretching across the bridge of the nose and his bangs were white.  There was something about the arm that Keith couldn’t pinpoint, but it was him. Keith stared, feeling emotions he hadn’t felt since the news came that HQ had lost contact with the Kerberos crew members.

Keith swallowed, trying to keep a neutral expression despite nearly laying across the desk, “Is this live?”

The Galra, realizing this wasn’t an attack, lowered the gun, but kept it in view to ward off any more sudden actions. “No. It’s recorded footage. Live feed this far out would cost too much. This is over three weeks old.”

“Where was this recorded?”

“Far away from this dirt ball of a planet,” the Galra, losing his patience, and raised the gun again. “Get out.”

Keith left the building with hands in pockets and deep in thought.

* * *

_ Detention was spent in an isolated room with a small window and only a desk for school work and study. Yet, the desk was empty as the student was sitting on the floor tossing a ball against the far wall and catching it as it bounced back. His right eye was swollen and his uniform was dirty and wrinkled. _

_ The door open casting the hallway light into the room. The student caught the ball and looked up to see a broad shoulder Japanese young man filling the doorway. Before the boy could stand, the man held up a hand and said, “Stand down, you don’t have to salute. I just came to talk.” _

_ The student stayed on the floor looking sullenly at the ball in his hand. He didn’t recall seeing him around school before. “So you’re here to tell me that I’m being expelled?” _

_ “No. Should you be?” The man crossed the room and, much to the youth’s surprise, lowered himself to sit next to him on the floor. _

_ “I don’t know,” the boy said. “The school rules prohibit fighting and I’m already on probation for it.” _

_ “That’s true, but the school also has rules against bullying,” the man said. “I encouraged the staff to check the CCTV recordings and we have evidence of Charlie Kroger assaulting Sam Harver.  Is that why you jumped him in the bathroom?” _

_ The boy set his mouth in a tight line and crossed his arms in an apparent show he was no snitch.  _

_ “It’s not snitching if we come to the conclusion ourselves,” the man said kindly as if reading the boy’s mind. “In fact, when presented with the evidence, Charlie Kroger confessed that he was flushing Sam Harver’s family photos down the toilet when you attacked him . . .” _

_ “Sam’s from the same orphanage as me! Those pictures were all he had of his family!” The boy cried out, unable to keep his outrage silent. _

_ “Kroger is being placed on disciplinary suspension . . .” _

_ The boy snorted. “Yeah, right. His father has friends in Galaxy Garrison . . .” _

_ “True, but I also have friends in Galaxy Garrison as well. If Kroger does come back to school, it will be because he been to a psychiatrist for three months and has written a sincere letter of apology to Sam Harver,” then the man’s voice took on a harder tone, “which I will read and, for his sake, I better feel the regret in his writing.” _

_ The boy snorted, “And who are you to have that much pull with Galaxy Garrison?” _

_ The man offered a wry smile,“I’m Takashi Shirogane, but you can call me Shiro.” _

_ The boy blinked, the name slowly registering in his head. Then he gasped with wide eyes, “You’re the pilot who saved the Ganymede mission! You have the top score in all the flight simulators!” _

_ “I’m sure someone has beaten my records by now,” Shiro rubbed the back of his neck. _

_ The boy shook his head, “No! They’re still there! TAKSHI is still there at the top of the scoreboard! The instructor said that whoever can meet or beat your score can have a free pass from exams for the semester. And no one has been able to do it!” _

_ “Well, true, but someone has come pretty close.” _

_ The boy looked away, his cheeks turning pink. “Yeah, maybe.” _

_ “Kid, you got skill. You were flying on the highest setting. I saw KEITH right below mine.” _

_ “Well, I don’t like studying for exams is all.” _

_ The man place a hand on the boy’s shoulder, “I spoke to your instructors and I just came from the headmaster’s office. Fighting is against the school rules, but I argued that dismissing you from school will do more harm than good. So you’ll be doing in school suspension during which I’ll be training you.” _

_ The boy’s mouth dropped open in awe. “What?” _

_ “If it’s alright with you, I want to be your mentor during your time in Galaxy Garrison Academy.” _

_ The excitement faded from his eyes as the boy fell silent. He gazed at Shiro with suspicion, not quite ready to believe something that was just too good to be true. “Why?” _

_ The man offered him a small smile and comradely clapped a hand on his shoulder, “Because orphans need to stick together.” _

* * *

The shack had been isolated during the Galra invasion. When the Galra attacked, he had cloistered himself away here with a stockpile of food and a gun. He had seen the lights in the sky and the fires in the distance, but had stayed safe during the war and untouched. It had been weeks after the US government had fallen that he dared to take his hoverbike into the nearest town to get the news the aliens, called Galra, were in control of everything.

Keith returned here to gather his few possessions. He folded his clothes and shoved them into a backpack and gathered his remaining food stores into a bag. Outside, he had thrown a tarp over his hover bike, hopeful that it’ll still be here if he should return. The Galra would confiscate it if he drove it to the district and it had been an early graduation gift from Shiro before he left for the doomed Kerberos Mission.

Then he bent down, pulling a small lock box from beneath the bed. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he opened it and rifle through the contents. Inside was his Galaxy Garrison High School diploma and a picture of him and Shiro at the awards ceremony where Keith had received recognition as one of the top pilots in school. And deeper within was a photo of him as a small child sitting on the knee of a man with dark hair, much like his own. 

He laid his childhood photo back into the box among his other precious possessions and regarded a photo of Shiro. When Shiro disappeared during the ill-fated Kerberos mission, Keith’s life had become chaotic. Gone was the stability Shiro’s presence and mentoring had brought to a young troubled orphan boy and Keith had renege into his old habits of fighting.

For months after the lost Kerberos mission, there had been memorials with one stationed in front of the base with the three giant-size pictures of the lost crew members. Flowers were laid at the bases as if they were tombstones with lighted candles, with letters and cards hoping they didn’t suffer, hoping they were looking down from the true Heavens.

It had been a good gesture, but Keith couldn’t, wouldn’t, bring himself to lay flowers or say goodbye. If he did, then Shiro would really be gone. It was like he was walking in a haze of numbness and disbelief. He would catch himself checking his phone for messages from Shiro and couldn’t stop the outrage he felt when the officers removed his belongings from his room and locker.

Then that last day he was a member of Galaxy Garrison, had came about when Charlie Kroger ran his mouth. Keith had been walking down the hall towards from the flight simulators, of which he hadn’t done well, falling below 80% of the class despite his usual high scores. When he turned the corner, there was Charlie Kroger with his cronies at his side.  

They were laughing and jeering about something and Keith was content to walk past like a ship passing in the night, but Charlie caught sight of him and brayed, “Hey, Keith, I guess you’re going down the tubes like Shirogane did! Too bad he took his crew down with him!”

The following laughter grind like broken glass in Keith’s earth. The next thing he knew, he was on Kroger with a fist smashing into his face over and over. Later, after he was arrested by the disciplinary committee, they had showed him the CCTV footage and it still stunned him of how quick and brutal he had been. It had all been a blur on the footage and his actions were merciless.

Keith had broken one of the cronies’ arm in three places which would need to be in a full arm cast for three months and afterwards would be in months of physical therapy. The doctors doubted the young man would ever regain the full use of his arm again so his career at Galaxy Garrison had ended that day. The other young man had his head smashed into a locker, fracturing his skull and nearly putting him into a coma. As for Kroger, his jaw was broken and would have to be wired shut for six weeks while on a liquid diet.

The injuries were bad enough, but what hammered in the final nail on Keith’s piloting career was the lack of empathy he showed when confronted by the CO for his actions. That same day, Keith was told to go to his dorm, gather his belongings, empty his locker, and get out.

He stared at the picture, at Shiro, the man who had become the closest thing to a brother Keith had ever known in his life. The only family he had ever known for so long. He barely remembered his father and he had never known his mother. What would Shiro think of his expulsion?

Shiro was still alive. He was out there, forced to fight for aliens’ entertainment and had never died. Somehow, Keith knew in his heart of hearts that Shiro was still alive and that had been what kept him going these past two years. Now, he saw the truth for himself and his bones felt wired with purpose.

“Orphans stick together, Shiro,” Keith told the picture, determination edged in his voice.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments or Kudos is much appreciated. 
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr through RebelCourtesan muse blog.


	4. Lance, Thace

Night spread across the desert with stars staring down with apathetic beauty. Lance scanned the horizon seeing no light save for the celestial glow. He turned away with a sigh, pulling his jacket up about his ears to block out the chilling breeze. Despite how hot the desert became during the day he was always amazed by how cold it became at night.

Lighting a fire for warmth or cooking was too dangerous for it could potentially draw the attention of patrolling ships. A small desert tent was the only thing they had to block the cold wind at night and there was barely enough room for both of them. They have been living out of it for three days and three nights waiting for the signal and it was beginning to smell with tempers rising between them.

Hunk had been moaning about their lack of provisions. With no fire, he wasn’t able to cook decent meals and he claimed that cold canned food was turning his stomach. He was in the tent now taking his turn to sleep. Lance could hear him mumbling in his sleep about the proper uses of paprika. Checking his watch, he saw his turn to keep watch would last another forty-five minutes. As much as he wanted to sleep, he didn’t dare let himself doze off as one of them had to keep watch for the signal at all times at night. That was when all their waiting would finally pay off.

He rubbed his eyes and sighed. Lance never liked the desert. It was not just hot, but drier than what he was accustomed to being from an island country with humid air filled with the scent of salt and water. He closed his eyes and remembered home; his mother’s voice calling him for dinner, the feel of sand beneath his bare feet as he ran home into the welcoming scent of home cooking, and the calls of his brothers and sisters.

When he opened his eyes, he saw a light diminishing in a red streak in the distance.

“Shit!” He cried jumping to his feet and nearly tripping in his haste to roust his companion. “Hunk! Hunk! Get up! We gotta move!”

He ripped open the tent flap and began pulling out a bag and shoving supplies inside. A large figure huddling inside began jerking like some giant grotesque worm. Then a swarthy head peeked from the sleeping bag, “Huh? What?”

“The signal! We gotta move! Now!”

It took the larger teen several twists and turns to disentangle himself from the sleeping bag and grab for his boots. “Oh man! Oh man!”

“Stop panicking and c’mon!” Lance hissed as he rolled up his own sleeping bag. He hauled his gear to the motorcycle and began strapping it onto the back of the sidecar then helped Hunk take down the tent and kick sand over it.

Hunk squeezed into the sidecar pushing aside the gear to sit precariously behind him. “I don’t see it, Lance.”

“It was there,” Lance said as he mounted the bike and kicked it into gear. It was an old bike running on flammable gas, but couldn’t be detected by Galra energy scans. It made a racket though as it gave a lunging start, nearly offsetting the gear.

Hunk gagged from the sudden motion and Lance silently swore he would kick the big lug out if he vomited now. He was turning a shade of green, but he managed to wheeze, “They’re going to hear us . . .”

“They can’t hear us if they aren’t around,” Lance said through gritted teeth. “Now stop talking or you’ll bite your tongue.”

The motorcycle tore across the desert, skipping along dusty upheavals in the rocks and ground. More than once, they nearly crashed whenever the motorcycle momentarily spun out of control. They had no time to take it easy. Their contact said they had ten minutes instead of the twenty they were promised. How long did it take to load the gear and hide the tent? Three or four minutes?

Time of was ticking away inside Lance’s head and they had only one shot at this. There was an old grate along the district wall for waste disposal, just less than a football field away. Lance twisted the throttle and they shot forward, kicking up a cloud of sand and pebbles behind them. He had to pull on brakes and twisted the handlebars and the vehicle and passengers tilted over to the side. Hunk retched dryly at the ground. If he didn’t like the driving, then he was really wasn’t going to like the next part.

“Hunk, hurry up! We don’t have time to waste!” Lance dismounted and tossed off the gear.

There was a large hole they had dug when they arrived near the district wall. It was just big enough for a motorcycle and sidecar. They had dug this hole on the first night of their arrival.

“I need your help, Hunk,” Lance growled as he pushed with all his might, but not making the progress they needed.

“I need a minute,” Hunk gasped.

“We don’t have a damn minute! Get over it and c’mon!”

Hunk gulped loudly and hauled himself up. With his added weight behind the motorcycle it was pushed easily into the hole. Next to it was a tarp covered in a mound of dirt of which they lifted one end together and the mound cascaded into the hole, filling it and hiding the motorcycle. If they had the time, they would have packed the dirt down to hide it was freshly turned dirt, but they couldn’t waste anymore precious time.

The walls of the district had a sensor in place that detected any life form larger than a small dog. For ten minutes, information had been rerouted into a loop leaving a hole in the sensory net at the grate and there would be no passing patrols to spot them. Once the ten minutes were up, the information net would become whole and patrols would resume.

“Hurry,” Lance said looking around, for fear that their contact fell through on patrols stalling.

Hunk took a laser torch from his pack and twisted a knob, igniting a small flame. He jumped into the shallow sewage, shiver and shuddered as he forced himself not to think about what he was walking through. The bars glowed and a thin line cut across the iron and spread apart, but too slow. Much too slow.

“Can’t you go any faster?” Lance was breathing on Hunk’s neck.

Hunk shrugged him off. “I’m doing what I can without damaging the metal. We gotta put this back up and repair it from the other side.”

Leave no trace. That was the crucial piece of their mission. The Galra, not even the native humans, could know they were from outside the district. A mission similar to theirs had been attempted in France, but failed with a wide scale manhunt within the targeted district and they lost two good men.

“Okay,” Hunk lowered the blowtorch, “help me kick it.”

They kicked the bars which squelch in protest and with one more jointed kick, the grate fell open.  After throwing their gear through the whole, they went in, and Hunk welded the grate back in place while Lance held it in place. 

“Let’s hope they don’t sent a routine maintenance guy out there.” Hunk said as he pushed on the grate, testing it.

“Let’s go. We’re still within the sensory net’s border.”

They took off at a run away from the wall and into District 88. They were two small figures dashing across the field. How far before they were picked up? Headlights splashed across them, bright and blinding.  Through squinted eyes they could see a black sedan. They heard a car door open and a voice called, “Well, c’mon, if ya wanna get outta here! The patrol ship’s on its way.”

They dashed forward and threw open the doors. Lance took the passenger seat and Hunk took the gear with him into the back. Sitting in the driver’s seat was a dark hair woman in jeans ripped at the knees, a black leather jacket, with a white tee. A dull red glow was cast on her face by the lit cigarette tucked between her lips. Her eyes were a brilliant blue like a husky.

“Took ya long enough,” she said stomping the gas pedal and the car lunged forward much to Hunk’s dismay.

“We were supposed to get twenty minutes,” Lance found his seat belt and clicked it in place to keep from being thrown against the windshield if she should hit something at this speed. Like the motorcycle, the car was a relic back from when vehicles needed combustible engines instead of fuel cells. This resulted in a louder and rougher ride compared to the newer, quieter models.

“Ten was the best I could do with the payment you gave me,” the woman smirked, switching the car into gear when they hit a smoother road. “You hid the bike?’

“Yeah, we did and fixed the grate. They shouldn’t know we’re here unless someone says something.” Lance cast a suspicious look at her.

The woman was pretty in an older woman way. She had to be in her early thirties with smooth, pale skin despite the hot sun in this part of the US and she had an infectious smile. If he wasn’t so tired by the sudden dash and anxiety by the mission, he would have given her one of his charming smiles.

The woman laughed, “Oh, sweety, you know what you have to do to keep me quiet. Did you bring it?”

Lance pulled his bag across his lap and rifled through it. He pulled out a plastic bag and peeled it open to reveal two kilos of cocaine. The woman’s smile brighten and she pulled a switchblade from her pocket. Lance flinched, but stayed still with a stony face. Flicking the blade out open, she reached over and did a short jab into the plastic and touched her tongue to the powdered blade.

“Yeah, this is good,” she folded the switchblade against her thigh and pocketed it. “This will buy you two weeks at my place.”

“Two weeks is all we need. Did you do the exchange?”

“Of course, here.” The woman held up a piece of paper between two fingers. “Check it out.”

Lance took the paper and skimmed its surface. “Is this it? There has to be more than this! We went through a lot of trouble on our end to get that list!”

“That’s between you and your stoolie. I’m just the courier.” There was a slight edge in her voice, a tremor of warning. “And don’t yell at me in my own car, son, or you’ll be walking from here. If you wanna holler at me like I’m some kid that pissed the bed, then you can go to  _ Bruisers  _ where you can pay a whore to take that kinda shit.”

Lance scowled, his cheeks turning a bright shade of red, and studied the list for a moment before tucking it away in his pocket. “How long before we get to your place?”

“About an hour, but we gotta make a stop first. Don’t worry, it won’t take long.  Is your friend going to be okay? If he throws up in here, he’s gonna be walking.”

“No, I’m okay,” Hunk moaned from the backseat. “Can you slow down?”

“Nah, can’t, curfew is strict in this district. A stupid little girl got herself raped by a Galra for being out after dark. I don’t know if they’d be interested in candy-ass little boys, but if ya wanna find out, I can let ya find out.” The woman brayed at her own joke, slapping the dashboard in exuberance.

Hunk turned a shade of red and ducked behind the seat, “Sorry I asked, but how bad is it in this district? No rape jokes, please.”

“Ahhh, kinda slow, but the Galra don’t take shit, especially not around their munitions factories. They’ve been pretty lax at checkpoints lately and most of the guards are willing to look away for a few gac chits and Gall powder.”

“What if you get arrested?” Hunk asked poking his head up over the seat.

“Depends on whether the Galra are pissed or not. It can be anything from being shot or sent to a labor camp,” the woman said, pumping gas into the engine, making it roar forward. “But Galra aren’t immune to bribes. Fill the right hand with enough gac and they’ll look away or leave the door unlocked.”

Lance lean back in his seat with his arms crossed. With the ride much smoother on a dirt road, he found himself burned out from the rush to get through the wall. He yawned and closed his eyes, only meaning to rest them for a minute.

When he woke up, it was half an hour later and the car was jerking as they were off the road again, bouncing along so fast his head nearly smacked the ceiling despite the seatbelt.

“Are we being attack!?” he shrieked, nearly biting his tongue.

He heard Hunk try to answer, but gagged when the entirety of the car was airborne as the woman drove them up and over a hill. The car landed on both wheels and this time Lance’s head smacked the ceiling so hard he was nearly knocked cross eyed.

“Just making that stop I told ya about!” the woman called out over the snarling engine. “Won’t take long! Promise!”

Once Lance was able to hold on and become accustomed to the speed, he noticed the banging in the back.  At first, he thought it was the gear being tossed about, but then he realized it was coming from the trunk.  “What’s that sound?”

“Don’t worry about it,” the woman said dismissively.  

The vehicle stopped in a spray of rock and dirt. The woman stubbed out her cigarette in an ashtray which was already full of butts and ash, turned off the engine, and grabbed the hilt of a machete sheathed next to her legs. The blade gleamed at him in the moonlight as she pulled it from the sheath in a soft metal hum.

With the car silent, Lance could hear clearly the noise coming from the trunk. It was a series of thumps and banging along with a muffled warble that sounded eerily like speech.

“This will just take a minute,” the woman assured him as she got out of the car. Her boots crunched the dirt as she moved around the car.

Lance’s mouth went dry.

“What is she doing?” Hunk whispered from the back seat. He was crouch low and Lance could see him peering over the nervously over the seat head.

“Just . . . just keep your head down,” Lance whispered back.

The trunk click open and their vision was blocked by the trunk lid. There was a moan of fear and the sound of struggling before something heavy hit the ground. There was a low scream cut off by sickening sounds that twisted up Lance’s insides. From the driver side mirror, he could see the machete rise and fall over and over and over, each time rising with more and more crimson clinging to the blade.

When it stopped, there was a long silence where Lance could only hear his pounding heart and Hunk whimpering. The woman came back around with a cloth wiping the machete clean. She got back in and sheathing it and then checked the rear view mirror to wipe away any blood spray on her face with a white cloth she pulled from her pocket.

“Sorry you had to see that. I figured I could take care of two birds with one stone on this trip,” she said so casually, as if they witnessed her having a public argument with an ex.

Lance felt as if all the air had gone out of his lungs and he was slowly relearning how breath. When he was able to speak, he managed one word. “Who . . .?”

“Just some dumbass who worked for me. Thought I wouldn’t notice him stealing my own product and selling it for himself.” The woman tossed the cloth out the window. “I can handle a lot of things. Alien invasion, losing everything I own, and moving out to this backwoods shithole, but one thing I won’t take is someone trying to cheat me. That’s one line you do not want to cross with me, Margery Kayla.”

* * *

Before the Galra invasion,  _ Bruiser’s  _ had been a small bed and breakfast with four quaint upstairs bedrooms with a single shared bathroom at the end of the hall. The downstairs held a large size living room with a side room serving as a dining room. Once the Galra invaded, the owners abandoned the inn and it was claimed by a construction worker named Bruiser who knocked out the walls to turn the downstairs into an open barroom. He got his hands on a shipment of off world alcoholic beverages and opened the bar to service both humans and off duty Galra, though Galra frequented it more often at night due to curfew.

Bruisers was one of the few places allowed open after hours which was fine as the bar’s business boomed at night as his place was the only one open for miles that had girls willing to sleep with both humans and aliens for money. Such girls were serving drinks as waitresses wearing tight shorts and thin cotton shirts to show off their assets.

The bar was full, all tables taken by Galra soldiers enjoying their off duty hours. It wasn’t often they came to a planet with a culture that not only understood good entertainment, but had erotic females as well. The air was filled with the scents of booze and the heavy smoke of  _ cedair _ , a tobacco plant popular among the Galra which carried a heavy smoky aroma that humans say reminded them of pine or cedar.

Thace lightly tapped a claw tip on a card in deep thought. There was a pile of face down cards in the center from where the others had surrendered their hands. A sizable pile of chits was the prize between himself and his opponent, a young soldier fresh out of Academy and on his first campaign. Thace had three moons and two Quinez stars, yet, Tobiar, his brash opponent wasn’t backing down from his bluff. Did he have something worth taking the risk or was it an outright bluff?

He studied Tobiar who was leaning over with his cards faced down, his leg jerking so hard, his booted heel tapped on the wooden floor. He was nervous, anxious, waiting for Thace to place his bet or fold. It wasn’t that Thace was unsure if he had a winning hand or not, it was whether he should win or not.

It had been nearly a year since his demotion to this region of Earth which made him a stigma in his soldier’s eyes. Only now has the whispering and jeers behind his back eased and the small disobedient challenges from his soldiers had almost disappeared. If he won such a large sum, there would be more resentment, but if he lost and allow himself to be the butt of their jokes this thaw would continue.

“I yield,” he tossed his cards on the table.

The table rattled from the thumping fists of the onlookers as Tobiar raked in his winnings to his end of the table with a sharp smile. Then a round of drinks were called for as it was customary for the winner to buy drinks for the losers. A human woman with long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail brought the rounds on a large tray. Once the drinks were distributed, she leaned against her regular, Izex, a thick set soldier with pale eyes. He curled a long arm around her waist, claw tips pricking the soft skin at her side.

Two years ago, when it was discovered that humans and Galra were sexually compatible, human women have been highly sought as sexual partners. It was one of the reasons Bruiser's was so popular in this area. Soldiers were light years away from wives and lovers and found companionship with other species, especially in one as sexually charged as humans. The conversation was circling its way back to the topic of sex as it often does whenever males have too much alcohol in them.

“You should get transferred to Asia,” Tobiar said with a leer, a  _ cedair  _ stick ground between his sharp teeth. “The women there are soft spoken and eager to please. Not like these crude rags around here.”

If the woman was offended, she made no show of it. Izex patted her hip, reassuring, but his eyes were on Tobiar, “I find the women on this continent attractive enough. I have no complaints and neither do they.”

Thace drew a  _ cedair  _ out and lit it with a hotstick he kept on his person. He bit the end and took a long pull on the end, filling his lungs with the narcotic relaxed him. He closed his eyes and listened to the music reverberating through the bar over the voices of Galra and clinks of glasses. The bar played both human and off world music and was now warbling a human classic. He listened to the pleasant lyrics.

_ What if God was one of us? _

_ Just a slob like one of us _

_ Just a stranger on the bus  _

_ Trying to make his way home _

If there was one thing he liked about human music was that they made everything so personal. As if they could reach out and take the stars in their hands and converse with a deity face to face.

_ If God had a face what would it look like? _

_ And would you want to see  _

_ If seeing meant that  _

_ you would have to believe  _

_ in things like heaven and in Jesus and the saints _

_ and all the prophets _

“Remember Takor? He was transferred to Zenana last year,” Tobiar said, cutting into Thace’s thoughts. “The lucky bastard became an actual courtesan escort. Talk about a cushy position with all the perks.”

Izex snorted, “Not really. He’s not able to dally with the courtesans as you would think. They’re hands off save for the Imperials, Commanders and their . . .” he cast a white eye at Thace, “lieutenants.”

Thace bit a piece off the cedair and chewed it slowly, letting the juice roll over his tongue. He swallowed it before he answered, “You’re not missing anything. The courtesans are pampered little girls who expect to be complimented with every other word. You’re better off with what Earth has to offer.”

They were going to pry. Their ears were up and they were leaning forward with very attentive eyes.  He was expected and waited for it.

“Was that the reason why you arranged for Prorok’s pet human to be sent to the Heart of the Empire? Because you couldn’t have her?”

Was that the new rumor? Thace arched his eyebrows in a show of genuine surprise. Rumors spread through the Empire military faster than a contagious strand of Brecia flu. Did they really think his demotion was a pissing match over a human? Well, it couldn’t be further from the truth, but to deny it would only enrich their belief in it.

“As much as the woman was desirable, no, it wasn’t me.” And that was true, though Thace knew who had done it.  No, his demotion had been for a very different reason instead.

* * *

_ London was burning again. _

_ Thace was led a squad of soldiers and sentries to take London, but the humans were holding their ground, keeping them at bay by sheer will. Every time they gained ground, the humans would throw back their push, reclaiming lost territory. The encounter had lasted three days with his superiors barking into his comms for him to resolve the encounter swiftly. With resupply shuttles in operation, Thace would have outlasted the humans within days, but Prorok had been impatient. _

_ London began burning via the thermal bombs dropped by airships. The bombs were small, no bigger than Thace’s fist, and fiery red, but each one held the intense explosion of a hundred pounds of TNT. Within each explosive was a chemical concoction, invented by the Druids, that erupted into long lasting flames with enough heat to melt metal from just feet away. The airship dropped hundreds of them over South London. _

_ The buildings were covered in flames and the air ripped with screams of human civilians who were fled from the buildings and right into the crossfire. Thace screamed, ordering a cease fire, but the explosions drowned out his orders. Bodies of both young and old were ripped apart by the crossfire between both sides. _

_ The human forces had no option, but to retreat or face heavy losses over a few streets. They headed north to the Thames River in hopes of escaping the flames. Marching over the fallen bodies, blood staining their boots, Thace’s unit left the flaming ruins only for the fire to follow. The screams of those unable to escape the burning buildings followed them like long, long shadows. _

_ With the human military pinned against the river, Thace was certain the campaign would come to a merciful end, but he underestimated the human will to win, to survive, and their willingness to sacrifice. None of his men or sentries saw the man until he was on top of them. He must have been using the chaos of the flames to hide his presence until he was within yards of them. Charging at the heart of the troops, he flung open his long coat revealing the bombs attached to him in strips of adhesive tape. _

“For Queen and Country!”

_ The explosion flung Thace off his feet and render his soldiers into masses of torn metal and purple gristle. Hot blood rolled down his back and he wasn’t certain if it was his or the human’s. Then the human opposition swarmed them like ravens on a corpse.  He took three shots to the hips, leg, and arm. He threw himself through a window to escape another onslaught of bullets. Glass crack under his boots as he scramble across the floor, ignoring the shards that had cut through the mesh between his armor. He needed to regroup with what was left of his troops and he sent a call over the comms to meet at the Imperial War Museum. _

_ The fire killed just as many of his troops as it did the human militia. Though they did manage to take London, most of it was burned to the ground, rendering the majority of the city into charred ruins and bodies. _

* * *

His thigh ached sometimes when he stood for too long.  It would be a while before the pain fully went away from when he ran with a bullet in his flesh for hours.  He had underwent breathing treatments for his lungs had been damaged by the heat and smoke of the fires.  The medics told him he had been lucky and wouldn’t need any extensive cybernectics are as some of his unfortunate men had been.  Just treatments and Fast Heal to heal the wounds. 

He had enough for tonight. He tossed back his drink and stubbed out his  _ cedair  _ in the overflowing ashtray. “I’m going to go ahead and retire.”

There were moans from around the table telling him it was too early to call it quits as he still had money for them to win. The drinks were flowing and the women were lovely and willing if one had the gac. The blonde gave Thace an inviting smile and he passed his eyes over her.  Though he appreciated the female beauty as he would a beautiful starry night or a piece of artwork they don’t evoke any desire in him. Ever since he could remember, it had always been members of the own sex that stirred his ardor. 

Though homosexuality wasn’t illegal in the Empire, it wasn’t quite openly embraced as it was in other cultures.  Nothing was gain from a homosexual relationship, no cubs or kits to burgeon the ever growing Empire.  It harken back to the early days of sudden expansion when bodies were needed to began the first great conquest.  Galra women were encouraged to seek out strong partners to produce the next generation of warriors for the Imperial army.  Incentives were given to families who produced more than one child and both men and women were pressured to seek out mates.  Homosexuals, especially males, were considered wasteful, nonproductive.  Most had been arrested and forced to produce a child with a consenting female or face going to a re-education center.  

Though, things were better now, it was still a topic of taboo and rumor mills and those who were open about their homosexuality were shunned. He didn’t need another reason for his soldiers to regard him with disdain as they were finally getting over being saddled with a demoted officer.

He rose from the table and after declining another round of Conquest, he weaved around the tables of other soldiers enjoying their time off. The wide panel holo-screens was playing the arena’s opening presentations. There was to be a battle royale in honor of the Emperor’s attendance and soldiers were making bets with the Champion being the favorite, though some are betting that tonight might be the his last bout.

Thace had no interest for the games, never having the taste for the brutality his race seemed to crave. It was good that he was retiring now so he could spare himself the blood and gore. He approached the door and it swung open before his hand touched the handle. Beauty itself nearly walked into him.

The sudden visceral attraction took him by such surprised he lost his breath as all the blood went to his head. Standing before him, with unruly jet black hair hanging in violet eyes of a shade that reminded him of the most beautiful of nebulae, was a young human. His trim figure sported a red and white jacket with yellow panels on the front. Black pants accented the fine legs tucked into battered work boots.

The youth stared up at him, his eyes reminding Thace of an animal being challenged, and he realized he was blocking the way. Most humans would have backed up with a bowed head, granting right a way to their alien oppressor, but not this one. This one seemed content to rise to perceived bait. He felt his throat tighten and he stepped aside, his blood turning hot beneath his fur. The youth silently walked past him to the bar, his eyes moving from Thace to the room, scanning his surroundings for any danger and then seated himself at the corner, closest to the door. Though he was willing to fight a Galra for right a way, he wasn’t foolish enough to sit too far from the exit.

Thace’s eyes raked him with admiration for both the youth’s appearance and temperament.  His scent lingered on his nose, it was a pleasant earthy smell with an underlying musk of sweat from a hard day’s work. Not unpleasant, but appreciated, desired. Standing by the door that had long since closed, he fought the urge to follow him to the bar.

How he envied those with the accepted sexual preference. Those who could easily approached an attractive male or female and just offer their companionship with a drink or compliment or to openly send a gift out of admiration or token of love. For him, approaching a potential love interest came with too many dangerous and humiliating risks to his rank. And now this youth was presenting him another barrier other than his sexuality. If the youth was a Galra he could approach him, speak to him jovially, befriend him, but since he was human, a member of a subjugated race, if he dared to get too close, the youth would assume he was being toyed with and would take a fight or flight responses.

“Shall I arrest him, sir?”

Thace looked over his shoulder and saw Izex standing behind him, likely rising to take part in the bets and had noticed his officer staring at the single human patron in the building.

“No, he’s fine,” Thace replied.

Izex sighed with relief as he wasn’t ready to leave Bruisers tonight to take in an arrest. “He comes only when there’s a fight. Loves ‘em, I think. Humans haven’t had anything like the matches for centuries, thinks ‘em barbaric, if you can believe that from what I’ve read of their own histories.”

Izex politely made his leave to place a bet before the fight began. The youth’s eyes were on the holo-screen, rolling the edge of a soda can on the tabletop in a nervous tick. As much as Thace would have loved to approach him, he kept his distance, knowing his presence would not be welcomed. The youth looked over his shoulder, sensing his gaze, and his beautiful eyes filled with intense contempt. He hated the Galra, yet he was willing to go into a room full of them to watch the matches.

Thace left the bar, a tight tension in his shoulders as the youth’s disdainful eyes followed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we will see Katie "Pidge" Holt. Along with Lance and Hunk.
> 
> Lyrics were from What if God was One of Us by Joan Osborne
> 
> Comments or Kudos is much appreciated. 
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr through RebelCourtesan muse blog.


	5. Bridget, Katie, Lance

There was a faint magenta glow from a desk lamp offering very little light, but enough to give her the layout of the room. This was her first visit to this room and her patron barely gave her time to see it being so eager to get her in bed. The only sound was the heavy breathing beside her, resounding from the rise and fall of a broad mauve chest. She lay still, her hand giving his arm a gentle squeeze to see if he would stir.  He lay still in a very deep sleep that can only be brought on by excessive drinking and sex and she had made certain to ply him with both for this chance.

Bridget rose slowly, frightened that the slight shifting of the mattress might disturb him, but he slept on. Bare feet alighted on the carpet and she rose, watching over her shoulder for any sign of awakening. His breathing stayed slow and rhythmic with eyes remaining closed. She stood still until she was certain he wouldn’t wake and padded lightly to where her dressed had been tossed aside during the tryst.

It was made of a royal blue material that flowed like silk over her fingers, but was as strong as denim. She turned it over to the front where there was a single seal at the neckline to hold the top up. Turning it over, she felt at the edge of the metal, where it curled inward decoratively. Her fingernails carefully coaxed a small black chip from the dip in the metal. It was no bigger than the tip of her small finger.

Now came the dangerous part. Making no sound she went to his desk where the tablet lay. Using the light, she found the port on the side and plugged the chip in. Turning the tablet away from the bed lest the light from the screen should disturb him, she waited with bated breath. Bridget watched the progress meter slowly inched its way to full while her heart stayed in her throat, terrified that her patron would suddenly rise up and demand what she was doing.

This wasn’t the first time she had stolen data from an officer’s tablet, but every time was as frightening as the first for she was certain this would be time she would be finally caught in the act. The closest she had came to being found out was when she had been careless and drank too much. She had risen tipsy and had stumble and barking her shins against a chair startling her patron awake. Thankfully, despite having her mind clouded with the wine, she was quick enough to pass herself off as very drunk and seeking the bathroom. The morning’s headache and sore shins taught her to be more careful.

When the process was complete, she tugged the chip out and took pains to make sure the datapad lay in the exact position before she touched it. Then she returned the chip to the seal on her dress and went back to bed, her pounding heart becoming calmer. Her patron stirred slightly when she climbed into bed, his long limbs shifting beneath the sheets. She drew herself against his side, laying an arm across his waist sleepily, as if cuddling him in her sleep. An arm, long and thick, curled around her waist, claw tips trailing white lines along her skin in a lazy caress. A year ago, it would have revolted her, but now she accepted it as readily as a breeze on her skin. Then she allowed herself to relax and sleep.

* * *

Katie’s mother wanted her to quit her night job. It was inside a munitions factory heavily guarded by Galra and everyday Katie was in a facility filled with explosives that could potentially go off if a fellow work was careless or mishandled a live bomb. Katie argued they needed the money. Since the Galra came, all their savings, and the death gratuity for Matt and Dad’s passing had been converted into gac currency which completely undervalue their monetary holdings. Overnight, they went from being comfortable upper middle class to barely keeping a house over their heads. And the Galra didn’t believe in economic hardship aid.

At 3:00 in the morning, she returned home and collapse in bed to wake up a few hours later to go to work at the doctor’s office. Her mother would leave her a small breakfast with a small note wishing her a good day and to be safe. Katie was often warned to be careful these days.  What Katie would never tell her mother was the true reason she went to the factory was to access their security network to pick up passwords and Galra transmissions of District 88 for the rebels. An act that would have her killed on the spot if they didn’t arrest her for an interrogation that would make her wish they had killed her.

And last night, she went through the motions of standing at the assembly line with other humans screwing in panels over circuitry that she would have drooled over two years ago, but now she had seen it so many times it had become mundane and quite routine. Yet, last night, her mind was racing as she went through the same motor functions over and over.

Her family hadn’t died on the Kerberos mission, instead taken by the Galra and they were out there somewhere possibly alive. What she wouldn’t have given for access to a ship so she could go find them, but she needed more information than just names on a list. Where? When? And, most important of all, were they still alive?

She managed to get to the doctor’s office and go through the day of checking patients in and out, transcribing the doctor’s findings, and getting the ultrasound to get through one more day, and kicking herself for forgetting to see about the part for it. All the while, she kept an eye on the clock, counting down the seconds. Today was only a half day to allow Dr. Michel to catch up on patient notes in the afternoon and noon couldn’t come soon enough. She needed to get home to catch up on much needed sleep and then go to the rendezvous tonight. 

Finally, the last patient checked out and Katie went through a quick clean up of the lobby and front desk with Sammi who noticed the change in Katie demeanor, “Did something good happen?”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” Katie replied, hoping Sammi wouldn’t pry.

“That’s good. I guess something good has to happen sometimes,” Sammi said, shouldering her bag.

They left the clinic together walking side by side. The noon sky was clear with the air comfortably warm. The street was more active in midday with some shops still opened: a pharmacy selling what low grade drugs the Galra allowed, a thrift shop, and housing supply stores. Public buildings such as the library, post office, and city hall had been renovated into Galra facilities and offices. It had been a blow to her mother, a history teacher, when the books had been burned to make room for alien processors when they turned the library into a way station for cargo trucks.

There was a group of Galra soldiers loitering in the shade of the checkpoint. A few were leaning against the wall smoking their cedar smelling cigars and speaking in their Imperial language. It wasn’t unusual to see Galra just hanging out and shooting the breeze, but it was wise to steer clear of them in any case.  As they drew close, Sammi halted, squeezing Katie’s hand so tightly the bones grinded.

“What?” Katie said, wincing. “What’s wrong?”

Sammi didn’t answer, but stared at the checkpoint in terror. Her lips trembled so badly, she couldn’t speak. Katie watched her face become a sickly pallor.

“Sammi, we have to go through,” Katie said, trying to sound as soothingly as she could. “It’s alright. They’re not going to do anything to us. Let’s go.”

“K – K – Katie . . .” Sammi whimpered, sounding almost tearful.

“Let’s go,” Katie said firmly, taking Sammi’s wrist in a grip that broker no argument. “It’s alright.”

Katie towed the bigger girl with her to the check point where a bored looking soldier was leaning against the wall not taking part in the mirth going on behind him. Katie let go of Sammi to reach into her bag for her pass. After pulling it out, she noticed Sammi was just standing there looking as if she could bolt at any second.

“Sammi, what’s wrong?” Katie hissed through her teeth. “I don’t have time . . .”

“It’s him,” Sammi whispered so softly Katie barely heard her.

Katie followed her gaze to a Galra who was speaking animatedly with the others. He was tall, like most of his kind, and with his helmet off, she could see he had broad facial features with tufted ears and a thin scar along the edge of his jaw. Katie stared at him until it finally clicked. He was the Galra that had assaulted Sammi.

“Is there a problem?” The Galra soldier inquired, becoming impatient, ready to wave them through.

Sammi stared at her rapist like a deer caught in the headlights, she clutched her purse with both hands, twisting the strap as if were a lifeline. Before the guard had a chance to become suspicious by the odd behavior, Katie quickly intervene, “We just need a moment. She’s not feeling well.”

Spinning on her heel, she took Sammi by the arm and led her away in long strides around the corner of a building, out of sight of the Galra. Sammi covered her mouth with both hands and broke into choking sobs. Katie wasn’t certain of what she should say or do. Promising it was going to be alright seemed useless. How was it alright that Sammi was so afraid and hurt while the Galra who hurt her was having a laugh and enjoying life just yards away?

“Hey, we . . . we got go to through,” Katie said gently.

“I can’t go near him . . .” Sammi whimpered through the sobs.

“He’s not going to do anything. It’s daylight now and I’m around and. . . those Galra are there . . .”

Sammi glowered at the ground, anger breaking through her fear and pain. “There were other Galra with him that night and they did nothing. They - they thought it was funny.”

Katie felt as if bile was going to crawl up her throat. What could she say? A small bubble of anger was growing inside her. “We can’t stay out here until he leaves. He could be there for hours. I’ll be there with you and I’m not going to let him touch you, I swear.”

Sammi looked at her in disbelief. Katie was barely five foot weighing in at less than hundred pounds while the Galra stood well over six to eight feet. Yet, Katie spoke with strong conviction. If the Galra tried to touch Sammi, she would do everything in her power to protector her. Sammi scrubbed her face with both hands, then stood straighter.

“Okay,” she whispered.

Holding hands, they venture back to the checkpoint. The Galra guard was irritated that yet again he had to leave his comfortable spot in the shade to watch them scan their passes and do a cursory bag search. After shining a flashlight through Katie’s bag he turned to Sammi whose bag was rattling in her shaking hands.

He gave Sammi a look, then turned his gaze to Katie. “Does she have a malfunction?”

“She’s fine,” Katie tried to sound calm. “She’s just eager to get home.”

“Uh-huh,” The Galra looked between the two of them, skeptically.

_ Sammi, calm down, please! _ Katie thought.  _ If you don’t calm down, he’s going to think we’re up to something. _

Finally, the Galra waved them along deciding he had better things to do than investigate two human girls. Katie was quick to take Sammi’s hand and tow her along before he had a chance to change his mind. She steered Sammi to give the Galra a wide berth, almost brushing the taller girl against the wall, and put herself between the Galra and Sammi, walking at a quick pace, just short of a trot.  Sammi’s hand trembled in hers and she squeezed it tightly. From the corner of her eye, she saw Sammi’s eyes filling with tears and her face was white as cotton. Katie began to fear that she would break down right there in the middle of the checkpoint.

_ Just a few more yards, Sammi, please don’t freak out now. Wait until we’re clear and you can cry as much as you want. _

The Galra exploded into uproarious laughter and Sami flinched, but kept walking. The laughter died away the further they walked and it was with a huge sigh of relief when they stepped into the sunlight again. Sammi released Katie’s hand and she darted towards a trash can. Grasping the edges, she heaved into it, emptying her stomach of her breakfast and lunch. Katie hurried over, digging into her bag for tissues and feeling guilty for forcing Sammi through the checkpoint, to force a victim to walk in close proximity to her attacker! Was she really that selfish? Then she heard the burbling laugh rise from Sammi. She wasn’t crying, she was actually giggling. Katie stared as Sammi rubbed her eyes and wiped her mouth clean.

“I . . .I did it. I . . . I was so scared I thought my heart was going to stop, but . . . I did it. I walked by him.” Sammi looked at the checkpoint, then narrow her eyes and held up her middle finger at it. “Fucking asshole.”

Katie grimaced, afraid that one of the Galra would see. She ushered Sammi along and out of sight of the checkpoint.

* * *

Lance was never one to be mistaken for an early riser, especially not after the night he had, but the mattress he slept was made of material so thin the metal springs poked him in his sleep. He rose groggy and irritated with a long scratch along his back from the sharp tips of the springs.

In the corner, Hunk slept soundly, likely having a better night sleeping on the two sleeping bags on the floor than Lance did. He yawned and reached under the bed for the pack he had left there the night before. He shuddered from the memories of last night Margery Kayla killing someone, and Hunk’s near freak out over it.

There was no turning back now they were inside the district. They weren’t chosen for this mission because of their training in Galaxy Garrison, but because of their youth. It wasn’t uncommon for young human men to come out this way to find work. After the invasion, a lot of humans lost their jobs as their places of work became defunct under Galra rule. Even teenagers and young adults who never worked a day in their lives were having to resort to menial labor to help keep their families fed.

Opening the pack, he rifle through his things until he found the issued FM walkie talkie. Lance checked the battery and made sure it was still fully charged, then switched it off and stowed it back in the pack. Orders were to switch it on twenty miles from the western wall every 12 hours to report in and receive further orders.

He checked the time. It was just after seven o’clock and his stomach was growling. Pulling on his shoes, he left Hunk to sleep a little longer and went downstairs. 

The building Margery Kayla had taken as her own was a two story ranch house with an old barn where she parked her car. It must have belonged to a family at one point as Lance saw discarded old family pictures in the corner next to an old fire stove to be used as tender. Though the house was old had the clean smell of Lemon Pledge.  Though Margery Kayla was cracked in the head, at least she knew how to keep a clean house.  The steps creaked beneath his shoes as he went downstairs where the melodious voice of Kayla rang out.

“300 gac for 30 capsules. Here ya go, buh-bye now. Next!”

There was an open arch next to the stairs leading into the living room where Kayla was holding court. The room had been cleared of furniture save an old oak desk where Kayla perched behind it atop of a stool. A queue of people were standing between the door and the desk. A man was walking past the line and out the main door stuffing a plastic baggy of pills into his pocket.  There were also two men with big with thick arms with t-shirts stretched over muscular frames stood on either side of the desk and watched the crowd with their beady eyed glares.  They might as well have the word enforcers written on their shirts. 

The next customer in line walked up to the desk. He was an older man in his forties or fifties wearing a soil shirt and old jeans tucked into mud caked boots. He didn’t have the solid look of a man who was accustomed to working his whole adult life. He looked soft, likely one of those people who had lived comfortably until the Galra invaded and now find themselves having to scrounge for the things they had taken for granted before.

“I need narcos 10.”

“500 GAC,” Kayla said with a friendly smile as if the man was ordering a coffee.

The man offered her a kindly smile. “I have 300. I could pay you the rest another time.”

The dark hair woman grinned brighter, showing a lot of teeth. “Sorry, sweetums, I don’t do credit or IOUs. 500 GAC.”

The man falter, but stood determined. “Ma’am, my wife has bad rheumatoid arthritis. She can barely work with her hands and she cries at night. I took her to the doctor, but he can’t give her anything stronger than aspirin because of the Galra. If you can just find it in your heart to . . .”

“650 GAC,” Kayla said rolling her eyes, dropping her facade. “50 for calling me ma’am, 50 for wasting my time with a sob story, and another 50 for assuming I have a heart. So put the fucking money on the table or get the hell outta here.”

Lance winced and wished the man would take the hint and leave before it got uglier, but the man was stubborn and was either blind or too stubborn to smell the danger. “Lady, I don’t like your attitude . . .” And then he made the mistake of pointing a finger in her face.

It was like watching a snake strike. In one motion, Kayla grabbed the man’s wrist and snagged his index finger with the other hand and with one twist, bent the finger back to the third knuckle. The man screamed so loud Lance’s ears rung from it. Kayla shoved the hand away and the man stumbled back, holding his hand to his chest, making a keening noise.

Then Kayla leaned forward, her hair hanging over her shoulders like a shroud. “Listen up!” she shouted at the queue. “I don’t care if you don’t like me or my attitude. You fuckers came into  _ my  _ house to buy  _ my  _ shit!  You don’t like my prices you can go find your drugs elsewhere!  _ Next _ !!!”

The people in the queue looked uncomfortable, but said nothing. They all needed the drugs Kayla brought in whether it was pain medicines, insulin, or to treat chronic illnesses. In fact, Lance noticed, there were some who were giving the weeping old man foul looks for wasting time. No one cared anymore if some old man was denied the drugs his wife needed or he was hurt and manhandled. They had their own families to care for.

As if by a signal, the enforcer forward and hauled the older man out of the house. There was a thud and a grunt and the big man came back inside looking smug. Lance was about creep back upstairs, having lost his appetite, but Kayla noticed him and waved him over. “Why, if it ain’t one of my tenants! How’s the morning treating ya? Where’s the big guy?”

Lance walked over to the desk where a woman laid down some credit chits for insulin capsules. “He’s still upstairs asleep. I needed to stretch my legs.”

Margery scooted off the stool and motioned for one of her enforcers to take over. She strolled over, taking him by the arm and gently leading him from the living room and into an adjoining kitchen. “Hungry? I got some cereal.”

Lance eyed her cautiously, “Is it going to cost me?”

Margery laughed merrily and slapped him on the back, “Nah, my place is a bed and breakfast.  Better eat what you can before fat man comes down and inhales it all.”

The kitchen was surprisingly clean. The tile floor was white and the counters gleamed as if they had just been wiped down. There were no dishes in the sink, in fact, he could see some of them set in a rack to air dry. He was led to sit at the counter while Margery, like a good hostess, fetched him a bowl and spoon. He watched her, attracted to her, but too intimidated by her to make any advances.  The memory of the rising and falling machete threw ice water on his ardor he could feel towards her.  It wasn’t the first time he had seen someone die.  

People have been killed during firefights with sentries and once their superiors executed a man for selling out safehouses to the Galra.  They hung him from a tree and he remained there long after they packed up camp and left.  Hanging the man had been formal, official, even the condemned went with his head held high to the tree and didn’t grimace as the noose was slipped over his head.  However, what happened last night was different.  It was brutal, bloody, and Margery took it as some distasteful chore that she was relieved to have done.  Thinking about it sent a shiver down his spine and he was eager to take his mind off it.      

“Why gac? I thought smugglers were into gold and precious stones,” Lance asked.

“Those guys are short sighted. They don’t see the bigger picture like I do,” Kayla explained as she took an actual pitcher of cold milk from the fridge and set it on the table next to him.

“And what is the bigger picture?” Lance was curious to know.

“The Galra aren’t going anywhere anytime soon.”

Lance scoffed, “The rebels are working to . . . “

“Hey, didn’t mean to hurt your pride,” Kayla held up her hands to show she meant no harm. “But let’s face it. The Galra have the numbers, the weaponry, and all the resources of a 10,000 year old Empire can provide. And what do you guys have? Second hand weapons you managed to keep out of their hands and banged up equipment that was considered antique even decades ago? Not to mention the purple fucks are all taller and strong as shit with claws and teeth.”

As she spoke, she was pulling cereal boxes from a cabinet and letting them in a line in front of Lance. Though he had momentarily regained his appetite, he had found it had left him again. “So you think the Cause is empty?”

“Oh no, I think it's grand and it’s making me richer.”

“So it's all about the money?”  Lance scoffed, not caring that he was risking her wrath.

Kayla took it all in easy stride, his anger not affecting her at all.  “Honey, that’s all there is. The USD and Euro are so worthless I use hundred dollar bills as tender. Gac is accepted universally. No matter whether the Galra stay or go, the universe is no longer some question of whether there is life beyond Earth, because the answer is a big fucking yes, and they already got the jump start on us with an intergalactic community. Granted it’s led by an ancient Empire of purple assholes, but I don’t think they’re any different than some of the assholes that were running things on Earth.”

“If you feel that way, then why help us?”

Margery gave him a cheery smile as if wishing him Merry Christmas. “Because sweety, if the Galra are busy chasing your asses, then they don’t give two shits what I do.”

* * *

Upon waking, Bridget didn’t dress right away as it could be seen that she was eager to leave and that would insult her patron. She was to linger in case he wanted her company before going back on duty, but he seemed to be more interested in dressing than her. She sat cross legged on the bed, watching him dress, making sure to keep her eyes off her garments still on the floor where the chip was hidden. Her heart skipped a beat when he nearly stepped on it with his heavy boots. The seal, though metal, was like tin and the chip was fragile. Both would have broken under his weight of his heel.

“I heard the Champion became a patron of yours.”

She was taken aback by the sudden question, but she managed to hide her surprise by a bland expression. It had been her only shield over the past year, to never let them know what she truly thought. “Yes. The Emperor wanted to reward him for his strength and skill in the arena.  It is an honor to be the reward of the Emperor’s favor.  Vrepit Sa.”

He was watching her reflection in the floor length mirror he was using to adjust his suit. It was hard to tell which direction a Galra was looking with their eyes without pupils, but she could feel his gaze on her. “I hope you’re not getting tired of your patrons, Little Nova.”

Little Nova, his personal nickname for her, and she had several. Little One, Little Star, Little Red, was just some of them. Always little something due to greater height advantage they had on her. Sometimes, it was hard to keep track of which patron called her what. She liked it better when they used her name, but then that would make what was happening too personal.

She kept her expression cheerful and reassuring. “Oh no, I love you all too much. I like reminiscing with him about Earth. He reminds me of my old home. Speaking of home, how is your wife? I recall you said she had been sick with Brecia Flu?”

Perhaps, he wouldn’t notice she was deflecting his inquiries. Her relationship with Shiro was becoming public knowledge and there were some who liked to romanticize it, as two people of the same species so far from home finding each other, which could be troublesome as it could cause jealousy with her patrons. So far, there has only been curious questions, but Bridget feared that one of them might request she not be allowed to visit Shiro.  Her first visit with him was a regal request from the Emperor, but the following visits afterwards were to show respect for His wishes.  As long as it wouldn’t seem to pique the Emperor, her visits could be discontinued.  Fortunately, so far, no one had raised any protest as of yet.  

Thankfully, the patron took her change of topic in stride and spoke about his wife’s recovery and then the topic shifted to his two sons who were both in the Imperial Academy and his young daughter who was turning four next cycle. Bridget listened to him taking in his every word and storing it away in memory in case it was useful the next time she was with him.

Before he finally left, he kissed her neck, just above the collar. It was a brush of sharp teeth that left a pink mark on her skin. She thought of it as a Galra kiss and the mark lingered long after he left. Once his footsteps disappeared outside the door, she quickly checked her dress and saw the chip was still tucked securely into the seal.

She quickly dressed and as soon as she slipped on her shoes, the door open and Takor was waiting outside. She ignored him as she tugged out the wrinkles in the dark sheets she left from sitting on the bed.  She purposely gave him her back as she worked.  

“They have cleaning drones for that,” Takor muttered, always exasperated by her need for tidiness. “Do you want a mop and bucket to do the floors too?”

She ignored him and continue working out the wrinkles, tugging it this way and that until she was satisfied and only then, did she leave the room gracefully. She didn’t look at Takor, refusing to acknowledge him, knowing he hated it when she did that. Ever since . . . she was brought here, cleaning and tidiness had been a weakness for her. She couldn’t refrain from cleaning her patrons’ rooms a bit after they left. It was the one ounce of control she clung to.

“We have to make a stop to make,” he said as he halted her before she would turn down a hall that would lead them to the elevator.

She paused, “Why?” She had been looking forward to resting in her room for the rest of the day.

“You know where. It’s time for your collar to be configured.”

Her heart filled with warmth, but she maintain an impassive face. “Fine.”

Several decks below, she was taken to the medical facility. She stayed silent, walking next to Takor, her face hidden beneath a veil. Being here again brought back too many terrible memories of when she was first brought to this station. Knowing that the same thing was happening to another hapless woman behind these doors was disconcerting.

They came to the third door after turning a corner. Takor palmed the door open and she was ordered inside. A Galra was standing at a table with chemical capsules and hypodermic guns hanging on a rack. He was a tall and slim with lilac skin and slanted yellow eyes set above white cheekbones. Along his skull was white markings and a strip of white hair. The lower half of his face was covered with a surgical mask. Unlike a lot of Galra officers with their tufted ears, he had pointed elven like ears.

“Lay down on the table,” he said without taking his attention from whatever he was working on at the counter.

She drew aside the veil and undid the seal at her throat and lowered it exposing her neck and shoulders. She moved onto exam table which frightfully had straps where the arms and legs would be. She swallowed, remembering all too well what it was like to be strap down to such a table and kept her hands by her head, too afraid to let them near the straps.

The scientist finally moved from his workstation to the table. Drawing her hair aside, he used a special keyed device that plucked a green vial inset at the back of her collar. He replaced it with a new vial and she heard a soft hiss as it connected with the needle that pierced through the skin and into her cervical spine. She moaned as the drug released into her system via the cerebrospinal fluid, shooting directly into her brain. Warm pleasure spread through her body and limbs, pushing aside the anxiety of being there, easing every tension in her body. Sighing, she pressed her cheek against the metal surface, almost nuzzling it.

Drugs were used to gain and keep control over the women of Zenana. Euphoric drugs kept them calm and happy while aphrodisiacs made them eager to entertain their patrons. Each collar carried a special cocktail for each Courtesan, mixed specifically for her body chemistry.

Bridget barely noticed her body being rolled over until a light was shined into her eyes. She looked away, annoyed her high was being disturbed.

“This will last her the rest of the month,” the scientist said flicking off the light. “Let her enjoy herself for ten minutes then take her to her room to sleep it off.”

She rolled onto her side, curling into a fetal ball, enjoying the drugs coursing through her brain. In a show of scratching her neck, she peeked at her seal. The chip was gone. She sighed, happily, relieved it was now in good hands and drifted on a cloud of ecstasy and euphoria.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be a Bridget background chapter with Shiro.
> 
> Comments or Kudos is much appreciated. 
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr through RebelCourtesan muse blog.


	6. Bridget

_ During my time in the Galra Empire, I found one small pleasure that I didn’t have before I was arrested. Stargazing. It sounds cliché, I know, and before I never gave the stars much thought other than being pretty lights in the sky that had no bearing on my life. Then I was brought among the stars themselves and I found a sort of refuge in them. Staring out into that abyss of lights and seeing there was so much more out there than I had ever imagined as a child. I could lose myself in it and feel as if I had no tangible body of my own.  I could float out there among those stars and planets as an omnipresent witness with no corporeal form. _

_ The room is cool, causing gooseflesh to ripple across my skin and my nipples become taut peaks. I could see my reflection in the large hull window. My green eyes stare back at me somber and large and my hair stood out in curls of coppery red, hanging down over my shoulders, like a sash on my bare pale skin. Had my skin always been so pale? Or did the Galra do something to change the pigment of it during those horrible weeks of drug trials? _

_ “You are giving the pilots quite a view,” he says to me from deep within the darken room. _

_ I smirk, drawing my knees closer to my bare chest. After taking a shower and drying my hair, I opted to go without clothes for stargazing. Before I would have been scandalized, but now I only shrug it off as a small joke. “It’ll give them aspirations of being promoted to officers and commanders.” _

 

_ He approached me with a cup of Asashia wine. It had become my favorite wine since arriving in Zenana. It had a nutty flavor that was soft on the tongue. I accepted the cup and a sip warmed me from within with each small swallow. It’s good, reminding me of the mulled wine I drank during the festivals in Ireland. Over the lip of the cup, I admire his reflection, with the coloring of white contrasting with the soft lilac. He was gazing through the window as well, taking a small pull from his own cup. _

_ I reached for his hand, my small smooth rounded fingers circling his long sharp ones. “You should talk. Aren’t you giving them quite a sight as well?” He too had forgone clothes himself. _

_ He made a soft ‘mmphm’ in his throat. “If you think that, then you haven’t experienced a Galra boot camp. Communal showers and changing rooms ensure that comrades are more familiar with each others’ bodies than their own wives.” _

_ “Not to mention making them question their own sexuality,” I said admiringly. I flashed back to the shower we shared minutes ago. The water cascading down his body in rivulets, down a broad chest and along a trim waist and hips was playing before my mind’s eye, giving me a warm sensation in my lower belly. _

_ This time a soft chuckle broke loose from his lips, giving his frame a brief shake. “You’ll be surprised how many are in the . . .what did you call it? The wardrobe?” _

_ “Closet,” I corrected, finding myself very intrigued. “So who’s gay? Is it someone I know?” _

_ A smile teased his mouth and he drew another sip from his cup before he answered, “You haven’t met him yet. He’s been stationed on Earth.” _

_ The peace rippled inside me, as it did whenever Earth was mentioned. Though, knowing him, he probably sensed it bothered me and spoke no more of Earth for a while. My hand tighten around his fingers, drawing him down as I set the cup aside on the window seat. Even when he knelt on the floor before me, he was still taller. _

_ “I’ve been among the Galra for a while, but I’m still surprised by how you perceive homosexuals,” I wanted to maintain the topic, to bring myself back around to the tranquility I craved around him. _

_ “It’s not as openly accepted as it is in your culture. It’s not a crime, but it is considered a dirty secret that could potentially ruin a career,” He was drawing his long fingers up my arm, the tips of his claws just brushing my skin. He leaned his brow against mine, the scent of the wine on his breath, making my mind feel heavy, as he spoke, “Those that find pleasure in the male flesh sometimes seek out the company of Courtesans to disprove such rumors or prove something to themselves.” _

_ It was the way he said it that spoke volumes. I inhaled sharply through my nose, my eyes wide, “Who!? Commander Dorvin? It takes him a while to finish and it has nothing to do with vigor. Or is it Lieutenant Branes? He always wants to do it from behind . . .” _

_ He was grinning broadly at me now, revealing sharp teeth. Now I knew he wouldn’t tell me and I would be trying to figure it out the next time I pay a visit to one of my patrons. I drew myself close to him, sitting on the edge of the window seat, my feet just barely touching the floor by his knees. _

_ “Again?” he whispered into my ear. It wasn’t a complaint, it was a request for permission. _

_ I nodded into his shoulder, my mouth grazing the skin there towards his neck. Then I remember, he had to hear my consent, needed to hear it. It was what separated him from the others. “Yes, again. I want you.” _

_ “Here?” He raised himself in that graceful manner, like he had joints and bones in places that shouldn’t have them. At least, if he was human. _

_ The idea hadn’t occurred to me until he said it. He always had me dictate how we should have sex. Whether I was on top or not, how we had sex, where we had sex, how many clothes we should wear. He let me have that control, the only tiny bit of control I had in my life now, and I loved him for it. “Yes, here.” _

_ Another smile teased his white lips. “A show for the pilots?” _

_ “Why not?” _

_ The glass was cool to my back against the heat of his flesh on mine. I clung to him, to his warmth, to his musculature, my short fingernails leaving pink lines on his lilac skin in the height of our coupling. His labor breathing was a sweet melody in my ears, his beautiful, cultured voice whispering my name with such barely constrained need. What was most erotic, the part that made me burn for him, was knowing that all his strength, his power, and self-control was pouring to me. Filling me up like a cup. For several moments as he climaxed within me, I held onto that heat, that rumbling sensation that flowed through me, an intensity that was as wonderful as the drug induced euphoria from my collar. _

_ I lean against the window, breathless and satisfied, the cool glass a welcome reprieve for my sweltering skin. He was shivering too, his own body covered in a fine layer of sweat and his eyes seemed heavy with fatigue. _

_ “What time do you have to return to the labs?” I asked, feeling a bit guilty that I’ve kept him from much needed rest. _

_ “Not for another five hours.” _

_ “You should go to bed,” I touched his shoulder.  His skin was smooth, almost silky.   _

_ “Are you coming?” _

_ “I’m very sure I did,” I said with a wry smile. _

_ It took him a moment to catch the joke and offered his bemused sound in his throat. “I meant to bed.” _

_ “Yes, I’ll be there in a bit.” _

_ The air cooled my body as I turned back to the window, staring at the stars that gave me moments of peace when he wasn’t around. Then I rose to join him, seeking the burrow of the heavy alien fabric and the warmth of his body heat. I drew a large hand across my waist, my fingers barely able to entwine with them on my stomach. His breathing slowed as he entered into sleep and the gentle rhythm drew me into slumber and into memories I rather wished forgotten. _

* * *

I remember keenly that last day of my old life. I had risen that morning three months pregnant. My stomach had developed a small pooch and my favorite jeans were too tight and had been resigned, hopefully, temporarily to the closet. That morning I planned to wash a load of laundry while I was out shopping for sorely needed maternity clothes and groceries.

The morning sickness had had nearly ceased, only occasionally rearing its ugly head. After cautiously sitting on the bed with no waves of nausea making me run for the bathroom, I dressed in the clothes that still fitted me comfortably and joined Devin downstairs.

Devin was scooting sausages around in a pan that sizzled and popped. He looked over his shoulder and greeted me, “Hey, still feeling good this morning?”

“Yes, and I hope it keeps up so I can have breakfast.” The smell of food was making me hungry.

“Your tea on the table.”

If there was one small thing I regretted about being pregnancy was my doctor had forbidden any coffee for me and I loved a hot cup of coffee in the morning. I looked longingly at the coffee pot sitting on the counter and it pained me that it would remain forbidden to me for months.

To take my mind off it, I asked Devin, “What time do you go in today?”

“In a couple of hours, but it’ll be a short shift.  I’ll be home before dark.”

Devin’s work schedule was sketchy.  Sometimes he had several days off and other times he’s pulling in 12 hour to 16 hour shifts where I barely catch a glimpse of him in the mornings before going out to school or work.  I would love for him to get a job with a consistent schedule and my father, living in Liverpool, was an owner of a restaurant chain had offered to give Devin a managing position in one of the newly built locations, but Devin declared he wasn’t a man to sit behind a desk all day.  Though, frankly, I believed Devin refused to work for my father because of his outright rejection of our engagement and marriage. 

When we learned I was pregnant Devin wanted me to quit my hostess job at the Italian restaurant, but I was holding on until my last month of pregnancy. The money was good and the tips I bring in have really helped in getting the nursery ready. Especially when I begin to show; people were more generous to pregnant women. I took today off to go shopping for maternity clothes and spend time with Devin tonight.

It had been a good day with a clear sky and weather was a gentle transition from the cold winter into warm spring. I was able to go out without a coat with just a short sleeve shirt and khakis shorts. My figure wasn’t obvious yet so I didn’t yet draw the admiring, concerned, or disdainful looks pregnant women receive.  Though, when I stepped into the maternity store, I did draw some curious looks that all went to my waistline. I chose several pairs of jeans and shirts along with a few dresses I could wear to work in my later months. I noticed in the back was lingerie and decided to surprise Devin tonight with a black nightie that accentuated my new figure. I did draw a few looks at the checkout, but I ignored them. Just because I’m expecting doesn’t mean I shouldn’t enjoy a healthy sex life with my husband.

 

From the clothing store, I went to the market and then paid off a few bills. I met a few friends from work and chatted with them for a bit before returning home to do some house cleaning. By late afternoon, I began preparing dinner. Devin came home just before dark and took shower. He came into the living room wearing only a pair of pajama bottoms he liked wearing around the house.

From the kitchen, I got a good look at what attracted me to him in the first place. The muscles he gained from years of hard labor shifted beneath tanned skin. His dark hair was still wet and was combed away from his face reminding me that I needed to bug him to get trim soon, though, he did look fetching with longer hair.

“I think “Parable Lost” is available for streaming,” Devin plopped on the couch and was scouring the entertainment menu on our vid-screen.

“I thought you weren’t interested in that movie,” I said from the kitchen taking the rolls from a hot cookie sheet and placing them into a bowl.

“I said I wasn’t interested in paying full admission to see it in the theater. I don’t mind renting it for a few Euros,” he flipped through the menus and noticed a news report and selected it.

An image spread across the screen of the three crew members of the lost Kerberos mission. An older man with gray hair and glasses, Samuel Holt, and his son, Matt Holt, a young man who also wore glasses and bore a resemblance to his father. The last member was a handsome asian man who their pilot. All three had been declared dead months ago and the reporting was talking about memorial was being planned in their honor at Galaxy Garrison central.

“Bloody shame about Shirogane,” Devin commented studying the images. “Heard he was a damn fine pilot.”

“Maybe what happened was so fast they didn’t suffer and went to God’s side without pain,” I said crossing myself. It was a reflex instilled into me during my years of Catholic school.

Devin didn’t say anything. Though he believed in God, he wasn’t a religious man. We ate and spoke quietly together and often touched the others’ hands through the meal. Our marriage was still young enough that we still found each other fascinating and with my pregnancy, we were even more enthralled with each other. My phone kept buzzing from my purse, but I ignored it. It was probably work trying to get me to come in and that wasn’t going to happen. Tonight was special, tonight was going to be me and Devin. Tonight we were going to have a romantic dinner and a movie at home and make love.

I was wrong.

Once dinner was over, we put away the leftovers and stacked the dishes in the sink. Back then, I procrastinated on doing dishes and would rely upon a dish washer to do most of the work. Then we settled down together to start the film. With Devin’s arm around me, I leaned against his side, placing my head on his shoulder. He always felt so warm, even on cold nights, he always radiated heat. And I remember how nice he always smelled. Beneath the soap, I could smell the musky scent of his skin that made me tingle with excitement.

“I wanted to joined Galaxy Garrison when I was a kid,” he said as he selected the film.

“Yeah?” I asked, distracted from my arousal with curiosity as he so rarely spoke of his childhood.

“Yeah, it was after they aired the Jupiter mission. People were going crazy about space travel then, remember? I wanted to sign up when I turned thirteen, but my family needed me home.”

I swallowed, my hand closing over his. Devin’s father had been an abusive alcoholic. Being the eldest of three siblings, Devin had to be the man of the family whenever his father was passed out from his latest bender. There was a scar beneath his ear from where Mr. Walsh had smashed a bottle against his head when he was fourteen years old. The abuse and misery had lasted until his father had been arrested for driving drunk and assaulting a police officer. When their father gone at last, it had fallen to Devin to bring in their main source of income until his siblings were old enough to get jobs to help support their mother. Even today, Devin sends some money to his mother.

“Maybe little man will join up.” Devin said thoughtfully.

“Little man?” I asked.

“The baby.”

“Are you that sure that it’s a boy?”  I tickled his palm, invitingly.

“I just have this feeling.”

“Alright,” I said coyly, “if ‘little man’ wants to be a Galaxy Garrison pilot, we’ll support him every step of the way. Even if we have to sell the house to do it.”

He kissed me and I responded in kind. The film was almost forgotten as we drew down together on the couch. My hands teased at the waistband of his pants and he murmured his appreciation into my neck. The buzzing from my phone continued and his phone started chirruping as well. I sighed, drawing away from him, “Let me check to see if the restaurant isn’t on fire.”

Devin rose also, his face flushed, “I need to check mine also. Might be my boss giving me a new schedule.”

I checked my phone in the kitchen and saw that I had gotten several messages from my father, my co-workers, and friends. They all said the same thing: turn on the news.

“Devin, I think something is happening on the news.”

Devin was already switching channels with a grim look on his face. “I got ten texts and messages from my brother and sister telling me to check the news too.”

It was only seconds until the vid-screen flipped to a nervous newscaster peering into the camera. His eyes were wide as he if could scarcely believe the news he was relaying to viewers.

“As of an hour ago, Galaxy Garrison and NASA had detected an object approaching Earth. At first, they believed the object to be an incoming asteroid until they satellite scans revealed that it was slowing down. We now have images that the object is . . .” He paused, glancing at something off camera for a moment then resuming, “a spaceship. An alien spaceship.”

I felt numb as I approached the couch, my hand reaching out for Devin who was staring at the vid-screen mutely. His hand found mine and held it tightly.

“Galaxy Garrison has issued a statement for all viewers to remain calm and not panic. Attempts have been made to hail the ship . . .” He stopped, faltering in mid-speech again looking off camera again. His expression changed, his mouth falling open and his eyes widening, “Viewers, a message has been sent from the alien ship. I repeat, we are receiving a message from the alien ship. It is spreading across all networks as we -”

The image distorted, crackling before blacking out and then a new image flashed on screen. It was a purple alien. It had large tufted ears with dark purple sideburns reaching over his cheeks in upturn points. Thick brows narrowed sternly above bright yellow eyes with no pupils.

“People of Planet X-9-Zeta,” he began staring into our souls and his words pounding into us that our lives were changing forever. “I am Commander Prorok of the Fifth Fleet of the Galra Empire. Your planet is now under the leadership of Emperor Zarkon, Lord of the Known Universe, may his reign last another thousand centuries. You are to disband your governments and disarm your military forces and prepare to be joined with the Empire. If you do not comply with these demands, then this will turn into a military confrontation you will not win.”

The screen went blank. My hand was squeezing Devin’s so tightly, my knuckles were white and my wedding ring bit into my skin.

* * *

_ I woke up to find my eyes damp. After wiping them on the pillow, I reached out for the large warm body, but only found cool sheets. I sat up so suddenly I was dizzy. My hands clenched the sheets as I scanned the room frantically until I spotted him dressing at his closet. _

_ He was wearing the uniform of his profession. It resembled a militaristic version of a black lab coat that hung down almost robe-like to the top of his boots. Long black gloves covered his hands and oddly, the thumbs were a darker shade of black than the rest of the glove. _

_ “I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said without looking at me. _

_ “You didn’t,” I assured him as I left the bed, suddenly needing him. My heart hadn’t calmed its frantic beat. As much as I loathed the uniform, it didn’t keep me from touching him. My hands latched onto his arm as I drew myself close. _

_ “You should have woken me. I – I don’t like waking up and seeing you gone like that. I don’t like it.” _

_ “I didn’t want to wake you. You needed the sleep,” he said softly, gently coaxing me back to bed. _

_ “I get enough sleep,” I muttered, not liking how he was taking a doctor’s attitude with me. God, I just wanted to tow him back into bed with me, not just for sex, but to sleep with him beside me, to feel warm with him. _

_ “I can give you something to help you sleep,” he offered, ignoring my comment.  _

_ I slipped beneath the sheets, my hands lingering on him as if I would draw him down with me.  “No, I don’t need anymore drugs.” I didn’t like how sullen I sounded. It made me sound like a spoiled teenager. _

_ “Rest until Takor comes for you,” he told me as he turned to leave. _

_ He had moved beyond my reach when I said, “I love you,” _

_ He was quiet for a moment, “Thank you, Bridget.” _

_ I don’t know if he loved me back. I know he cared for me, but to call it love would be selfish and it was petty of me to try to ensnare him the way I just did. I didn’t take any offense or pain from it as I was uncertain if I actually loved him at all.  He was a placeholder at best.  When he left, we didn’t exchange goodbyes or give each other parting caresses or kisses. That was my choice as I hated saying goodbye, I hated partings, even if temporary. I had too many partings in my life since that night. _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I had to change up this chapter a bit and that involved removing the mention of Shiro, but you'll see more of him soon. Next chapter will have Katie "Pidge" Holt, Lance and Holt, and then we're gonna have some Thace and Keith.
> 
> Comments or Kudos is much appreciated. 
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr through RebelCourtesan muse blog.


	7. Thace, Katie, Lance

The young man continued to make an appearance almost every night. As if following a strict schedule, he took his usual spot at the far end of the bar nearest the door and watched the fights. Sometimes he stayed until the end and other times he left before the last match. He never drank anything stronger than a can soda from which he nursed from throughout the night.

Thace knew his routine by heart; could mentally countdown the seconds before the door open and the youth slipped inside. He spoke only to purchase a coke from the bartender and stayed silent until he left the bar. Thace found himself arranging to be off duty in time to watch the youth coming into Bruisers, taking care not to be too conspicuous in watching the youth lest his men noticed the target of his gaze. When he could be alone, he would take up a dark corner in the bar that gave him a good view of the door and end of the bar.

He thought himself ridiculous to find so much pleasure in watching the youth coming and going, but couldn’t help the sudden quickening in his chest when he made his appearance.  At the same time it hurt knowing his presence would not be welcomed. Any Galra who drew near while coming and going through the door was given an ill at ease glimpse from the youth, a caution against a sudden attack. It was like watching a wild animal who was settling at the edge of a watering hole to drink which would bolt if approached.

So Thace accepted only this small pleasure of watching him. This wasn’t the first time he had admired another from afar, knowing any advances would be considered an insult or taboo. However, this youth intrigued him like no other. He wasn’t there for company, that was made clear when one night a serving woman approached him. She leaned over him, a hand on his shoulder, lightly squeezing through the jacket. Thace found himself burning with envy at how she could so casually approach the youth. The woman whispered into his ear, her lips nearly touching the lobe, but the youth shrugged her off, declining her advances. The woman left him with an offended sniff and he was never bothered with her presence again.

For a brief moment, Thace entertained the notion the youth was like him, preferring other males, but no, he was too invested in the matches. It was odd as he seemed to derive no pleasure from them. He didn’t cheer or heckle the screen with the Galra spectators. He watched intently, almost solemnly.

The night it rained, the youth came in drench, his mop of black hair hanging in dripping tendrils down his face. He drew off his wet jacket and laid it over a chair next to him to dry. Without the jacket, Thace could see the thin black t-shirt that showed off the trim, but toned upper body. With his keen eyesight, Thace could see his hair clinging to his neck, drops of water, rolling down the skin to be absorbed in the collar of the shirt. He felt his throat tighten. A burning need was developing in his lower stomach, dull, but growing hotter by the second.

A serving woman with shoulder length black hair, just inches longer than the youth’s and stood at the same height approached his table with a pitcher. Thace seized her wrist when she refilled his glass, sloshing beer on the table. “How much?”

She adjusted the grip of the tray she nearly dropped when he grabbed her, balancing it on the edge of one outward hip. She had bright blue eyes. “The drink or me?”

He released her arm, relieved he didn’t accidentally scratch her. “You.”

The woman shifted her tray. He wasn’t sure if this wasn’t to hide her nervousness or to adjust her grip on it. “Depends on how long. 30 gac for one hour, 150 for the night.”

“One hour, then.”

“Give me a minute to let Bruiser know where I’ll be,” she told him before heading for the bar. A few minutes later she returned and motioned for him to follow her.

With one last glance at the youth, he followed her upstairs. The floor was carpeted and dirty from lack of cleaning. The bedrooms were small and cozy as they were meant to be a comfortable stay for guests, but all the furnishings were scratched and dirty from lack of care. The curtains hung over the windows and the bed which still had the homey quilted blankets was rumbled as if someone had just risen from it. He had to duck his head to keep the tufts of his ears from brushing the lintel.

The woman gave him a flirtatious smile, “What do you want me to do?”

“Undress and face away from me,” Thace said.

“Alright,” she said turning her back to him and pulling her cotton tank up and over her head.  

“And don’t speak.”

She stood still and silent, having been around enough martial Galra to know they wanted total obedience, even from their whores.  

Years ago, when Thace was young and didn’t understand his true sexuality, he had experimented with females inside and outside of his species. They had been fun, but never enticed the feelings he carried for his own sex. When he realized what was missing in these liaisons and where his ardor truly lay, he had forewent female companionship for years and lived in frustration between lovers until he realized that finding the female with the right physique helped alleviate his cravings somewhat, especially when he felt a burning need as he did right now. And it also removed any suspicions about his sexuality.

He focused on the smooth back and shoulders, ignoring the slender curve of her waist and hips. She was thin with the edge of the rib cage making an appearance with each breath. He laid a heavy hand across her upper back. There was a quick breath, a nervous gasp, and her shoulders flexed against his palm. She had laid with Galra before, but he could smell the tang of fear rising from her skin.

“Lay down on your stomach,” he said, his eyes on the dark hair on the nape of her –  _ his  _ – neck.

The illusion was almost ruined. The woman crawled onto the bed, trying to be seductive, but that’s not how  _ he  _ would have moved. The youth moved with a smooth grace, no motion wasted, a skill that could only be taught through martial arts training. Thace wondered if he would be a strong fighter.

He peeled off the top of his body suit, leaving his upper body bare. He set one knee on the bed, opening his pants, then he paused. “Do you have any lubrication?” He might as well make this as comfortable for her as possible.

A hand raised and pointed at the small bedstead. “Top drawer, there’s massage oil.” The voice was low, definitely nervous. She likely hadn’t anticipated she would be taken anally.

Supporting his weight with one hand on the bed, he retrieved the oil which warmed quickly in his hands and within minutes he was ready. After pouring a copious amount between her buttocks he snapped the top close and tossed it aside on the bed. Placing his knees on either side of her thighs, he positioned himself with one hand and guided himself in. The penetration wasn’t easy as the woman was nervous and her body kept tightening in reflex. He took it slow, pushing forward when she relaxed, and felt her body stretching to accommodate him. His need was burning throbbing like his own blood in his temples, but an experienced past lover taught him how to take it slow, how to give gently to a nervous receiver. Once he was fully within her, he looked down at her quivering shoulders and dark hair.

_ I wouldn’t hurt you, little one. _ He thought to himself, mentally speaking to the youth.  _ With you, I would take time to make you ready for me. There would be no rush, not with you. _

He set a steady rhythm, breathing low through his mouth, his body sinking into the object of his lust. The woman whimpered, her hands tightening in the bedclothes.

_ When I look at you, I see the pain in your eyes. Deep beneath the anger flashing in them. You’ve been hurt deeply, you’ve experienced loss. I know loss. You have nothing to fear from me, little one, I would never hurt you. I would soothe your pain if you would let me. If you would let me draw close, I would hold you, protect you, comfort you. _

The woman was moaning beneath him, sometimes crying out with pain when he thrust too hard. The bed rocked beneath them, the headboard thumping the wall, disturbing the couple next door. His hands clutched at the bedspread beneath him, almost pulling it into bundles beneath them. Then Thace hissed, his breath catching in his throat as an orgasm moved him and he came. He thrust into her in small tight jerks until he was too soft to maintain the penetration. Warm with the afterglow, he leaned forward, careful not to put his full weight on her and nuzzled the back of her neck, licking and sometimes brushing the skin with his teeth.

She moaned, a low soft and feminine sound, breaking the illusion. His purr faltered and he pushed himself off her, taking a deep breath as the afterglow slowly left him. Raking a hand through the fur between his ears, he sat on the edge of the bed with his pants still open. His softening member was slowly withdrawing into his stretched sheath.  Plucking the suit jacket from the floor and he reached for his packet of  _ cedair _ . He nipped the tip off one and chewed it before lighting it with a small hotstick. He took long, slow drags, letting the drug spread through his system, calming him. Then he rose, closing up his pants.

“You have almost forty minutes left, mister,” the human woman said tentatively, rolling onto her side. She was thin, almost unhealthily so. Her ribs formed soft ridges along her sides and her small breasts seemed diminished. “We can do more if you want.”

“I want to spend the rest of it smoking. You can rest or go back downstairs if you like.” He dug through the pocket of his jacket drawing out several credit chits which he dropped on the night table. It was more than what the hour was worth. “Take the rest for any pain or discomfort I caused you.”

He moved to a low armchair in the corner, uncaring of whether the human took a nap or went downstairs. She lay on the bed, recovering, possibly sore from having anal sex with a Galra. Watching the human, he felt a discontented stone settle in his stomach along with guilt that he had caused her some pain just to satisfy a craving she could never fulfill in the first place. He hated using females in such a way, but what could have substituted what –  _ whom  _ – he truly crave wasn’t available. He was certain that somewhere on this planet was another gay Galra, but that wasn’t something openly shared.

Just as he was deciding to pull on his suit jacket and return to his quarters for the evening, there was a barrage of shouts from downstairs. It was followed by the crashes of furniture being broken and the grunts of blows being delivered and received.

After ordering the human to stay in this room and lock the door, he charged downstairs.

* * *

**Hours ago . . .**

Katie’s mother believed she was on her way to her shift at the factory when in reality she would be going in the opposite direction. If one was careful and stayed away from the streets, it was possible to steer clear of Galra patrols at night.  It was too bad Sammi didn’t know any of that before she was attacked.

Slipping into an alley, she went to the end where a chain link fence blocked the way to open desert. Katie yank at a corner set into the earth at the edge of a support pole. She had to dig a bit at the wet earth, but she managed to find the edge of a corner of fence.  Peeling up the corner of chain links revealed a hole in the fence just big enough for her to squeeze through and set the fence back in place once she was on the other side.

With the water peppering her poncho, she kept her head down and plodded on. Her shoes squelched in the puddles and she regretted not taking her galoshes, but Mom would have been asking questions of why she would need them as Katie took the employee bus to the factory and worked indoors until the end of her shift. If her mother knew what she had really been doing in the factory . . . it didn’t bear thinking about. The poor woman had already lost a husband and a son and her remaining daughter was working in what she considered a high risk job. The last thing she needed was to know Katie was involved with rebels.

Was she part of the rebels? No, not really. She was contacted by her old computer programming teacher last year via a secure network. It took her an hour to crack the encryption – would have been less if she had her old computer and not the one she scraped together from the parts she could salvage. The message was short, but informative. During the invasion, her teacher had went underground with the rebels and was taking cracks at the Galra network, but was not making much headway. He assumed that within one of their own facilities, like the munitions factory, might give Katie the access she needed to gain useful intel. In exchange for her risking her neck to help them, information she wanted would be provided to her, such as the classified feeds from the Kerberos Mission.

And that was how she learned her brother and father and Takashi Shirogane were the first victims of the Galra. Her instructor had discovered a Galra study on the spacecraft and technology used during the failed Kerberos mission. She surmised this was how the Galra had such an advantage during the invasion because they had time to study Earth’s technology before they arrived. With the promise of whatever information the rebels could glean about her family, she began hacking into the Galra network through the factory’s mainframe. It wasn’t much information save for lists of where the munitions were being sent on Earth and off world. Sometimes she got lucky and was able to send along sites of Galra bases yet to be discovered in North America.

She now knew her family had been captured and not killed when they disappeared. Now she just needed to know two more things. Were they still alive and where were they?

It took nearly an hour of walking before she came to the old well. It used to be part of an old ranch house years ago that fell apart from disuse, but the well remained sticking up like hitchhiker's thumb in the barren field. There were two figures: a tall swarthy young man with trimmed hair with blue eyes and his partner a taller man with a rounder frame and darker skin color. The larger man was huddling beneath an umbrella much too small to protect his large body from the downpour while the smaller one stood in the rain uncaring of being drench.

She approached them cautiously. She had no gun, but she kept a switchblade in her pocket that she traded a pair of shoes for. Her hand floated down near it, hidden by the poncho. “Hello?”

The thin one looked at her with a raised eyebrow, “You’re our contact? Pidge?”

“Yeah, are you two with . . . . them?” She said cautiously, pulling the hood of her poncho downward. As a precaution, her teacher told her to go by an alias when contacting rebels. She opted for Matt’s nickname for her.  Pidge.

“How old are you, kid?” The thin one was staring at her quizzically. “12?”

She snorted, “Old enough to get you what you want.”

“Lance, can we hurry this along?” the bigger one said, shivering under the umbrella. “I’m gonna catch a cold in this rain.”

“Stop whining,” the thin one said heatedly. He regarded her with suspicion, but reached into his pocket and held out a chip drive. It looked human made, but it was Galra tech. “Here.”

She took it and studied it carefully. “What is it for?”

“It has a program that’ll let you piggy back into the Galra extranet.”

When the Galra came, the internet was taken down. The only network available to humans were within the factories which were very limited and only used to relay messages and orders to workers. The extranet was only accessed by upper ranking officers to communicate offworld.

“Wait, I would have to hack into a Galra mainframe which is only inside the main office,” she said feeling a chill slip down her spine. The hacking she had done had been in Galra supervisors break area and whenever she could slip outside to access their satellite. Never once did she ever go up to the second floor and no humans was allowed up there.

Lance shrugged, “Not for me to figure out. Do you have the passes?”

Katie tucked the chip drive into her pocket and drew out two passes. “Here. It wasn’t easy hacking into their system and making IDs. They’ll get you in and out of the sectors, but try not to cause any trouble or give them a reason to really inspect your backgrounds. I could only do so much with what I have.”

“Sweet,” Lance said shoving them into his own pocket. “One more thing, there’s a place called  _ Bruisers  _ in town, where is it?”

She wrinkled her nose distastefully, “Why? That’s a Galra bar.”

“We got our reasons,” Lance said with a shrugged.

“Fine, it’s on 6th street downtown. You can’t miss it because it’ll be the only place open. Oh, and it has like a hundred Galra going in and out of it too,” she said sourly.

“Hey, don’t worry about us,” Lance said squaring his shoulders. “We can handle ourselves around Galra.”

“Umm,” a timid voice rose from the shaking Hunk. “Did you say a hundred Galra?”

Lance frowned, his brows forming two straight lines over his eyes. “Hunk, please don’t make us look bad in front of the kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” Katie glowered at them from beneath the hood. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I gotta get home before my mom starts worrying about me.”

* * *

It wasn’t fun going having their passes scanned at the checkpoint. For a brief second, before the scanner blip green, Lance truly believed the little squirt had let them down. He managed to hide immense relief when the interface turned green, granting them access.  Even Hunk looked as if he was going to faint from the stress.  He kept prodding Hunk with the toe of one shoe to keep him moving and not standing there yammering in panic as the Galra gave them a critical look.  

The rain pelted down on them as they made their way downtown. Water and cold never bothered Lance much. He was more uncomfortable in the sweltering desert. The rain was a welcome change from the last two week of dry heat, but he was the only one of them to appreciate it.

Like the kid said, all the stores were closed at this time of night and they were the only souls walking the street. He told them their passes will allow them to travel after curfew, but advised them to try to stay out of sight. A Galra patrol might get bored and decide to arrest them just to pass the time.

“Dude, how are you not worried about getting sick?” Hunk muttered leaning over him, the umbrella drizzling water from the edges.

Lance shrugged, “Never had a problem with water. Love it actually. I swam all the time in the ocean when I was a kid.”

“So did I, but I still don’t like getting rained on.” Hunk sniffed before sneezing. “Oh, god, it’s happening!”

“Calm down. We need to play it cool when we get to  _ Bruisers _ .”

“And what’s at  _ Bruisers  _ anyway?” Hunk moaned. “Did you not hear what that guy said? A Galra bar with a hundred Galra inside!”

“It’s fine. I checked it out with Margery. Humans show up there sometimes to get a drink and buy time with one of the girls. As long as we don’t draw attention to ourselves, it’ll be fine.”

Hunk grunted disgustedly, “Don’t tell me we’re risking our necks so you can get laid.”

Lance snorted, “I don’t need to pay for it! And that’s not why we’re going. You think that kid is the only contact we have in this district?”

“Of course,” Hunk smacked his forehead, “your contact would be in a mean alien hangout.”

_ Bruisers  _ was easy to find as it was the only brightly lit building on the block. And just like the kid say, Galra were milling in and out. Drunken laughter and loud alien chatter could be heard echoing up the street as they approached. Even Lance found himself giving pause of entering a building with so many Galra inside.

“L-Lance,” Hunk stammered, shaking so hard, the umbrella rattled in his hands. “Can’t we wait until they close . . .”

“No, if we wait it’ll look suspicious and places like this don’t close until sun up. If you don’t want to go in with me, you can wait out there.”

Hunk shivered as cold water seeped down the back of his shirt, “I’m coming too.”

“Alright, but stop acting scared. They might think we’re up to something.”

“But we are . . .”

Lance felt like banging his head on the wall. “I know! But we don’t want them to do know that! Now come on.”

Lance was afraid they would draw stares when they stepped inside, but they walked into a cacophony of laughter, chattering, clinking mugs, and a reedy voice coming from the holo screens. They barely drew a glance with their entrance. As they walked further inside, past the end of the bar, Lance felt a chill go down his spine as if someone had stepped on his grave.

He shuffled to the bar where a heavyset human man was doing the universal bartender signature move of wiping a glass. “Two whiskeys.”

The bartender quirked an eyebrow, “Sure ya don’t want a soda, son? Or a hot cocoa?”

“No, two whiskeys,” Lance deadpanned.

Hunk raised a hand as if to sign that he would like a soda or a hot cocoa, but he lowered it under the scathing look Lance shot him.  

The bartender shrugged and set the glass down to collect a whiskey bottle from beneath the bar. “Gotta see some gac first, kiddo.”

Lance distributed two credit chits on the bar surface. “Will this do?”

“Sure, kid, just don’t get drunk and fall off the stool,” the heavyset man set the shot glasses on the table and scooped up the chits. Once the glasses were poured, he slid them across to Lance. “You here to watch the fight too?”

“No, just here for the drinks and girls,” Lance waggled his brows. The bartender was unimpressed. Lance threw back the whiskey and choke as he smacked the glass down on the counter.

“Thought you were friends of his.” The man hiked a thumb down the bar.

Both Lance and Hunk looked at the end of the bar and saw another human sitting at the end. The youth wore a red jacket and his hair was fashioned into a black mullet. He was staring intently at the screen toying idly with a coke can.

“Keith!” Lance snarled under his breath. “What the hell is he doing here!?”

“Who?” Hunk said looking at Keith who paid them no attention.

“Don’t you remember!? He got kicked out of Galaxy Garrison before the invasion -” Lance started, but was cut off when his collar was seized by a rough hand and he was nearly dragged across the bar to be brought face to face with the bartender.

The man’s breath was sour as he rasped into Lance’s face, “Look, you little shitbag, you don’t go throwing that word around in here. It’s ‘arrival’ as far as Galra are concerned. You tryin’ t’ get shot? You tryin’ t’ get my place shut down? And no fightin’ in here! You do, ya better hope the Galra get you before I do.”

He shoved Lance back who nearly toppled off the stool which rocked loudly on the floor, drawing attention. Some of the Galra glanced in their direction, but was either too deep in their cups or conversation to investigate and went back to their enjoyment. Keith glanced in their direction, but returned his attention to the holo-screen with no word or any sign of recognition.  Keith’s complete disregard for them had Lance fuming. Before he had a chance to shout, a blonde woman wrapped an arm around his neck. 

From an  onlooker’s perspective, it would appear she was embracing him from behind, but in reality, she was choking the air from his windpipe. “Hi, cutie, you wanna go upstairs with me?”

The bartender leaned on the bar with his thick knuckles, “Sandy, I need you down here. Leslie just went up with a customer and I only got Lori and Tanisha to serve drinks.”

“It’ll be alright. It won’t take him long. Just charge him half price and I’ll have him passed out within twenty minutes.” Sandy winked at the bartender, her hand squeezing Lance’s shoulder in warning to stay silent. He couldn’t speak even if he wanted to as he was struggling to drag air into his lungs. “And he’ll be upstairs where you don’t have to look at him anymore.”

The bartender looked between Sandy and Lance, whose face was turning blue, then muttered, “15 gac for half an hour then.”

“That’s all he’ll need.” She released Lance who sagged on his stool gulping air and then she gave Hunk a wink, “Do you wanna come upstairs too, hon?”

Turning a bright shade of scarlet, Hunk shook his head. “N-n-n-no! I’m good. I’ll just drink, down here, where it’s . . .” he looked around at the bar filled with Galra soliders, “ . . .safe . . .?”

Just as he recovered from being choked and becoming incensed with the insult to his sexual prowess, Sandy hauled him off the stool and towed him along to the stairs. Lance stumbled, but managed to keep from falling over.

He trudged up with her, grumbling softly under his breath. “I can go all night, you know.”

Sandy rolled her eyes, “Yes, I know, hon. Now shush, we don’t want to disturb our other visitors.”

They went past a door with a Do Not Disturb sign hanging on the knob and into the next room. Sandy stood aside and waved her hand invitingly inside, but just as Lance walked through the door, she shoved him with a thrust of a hand between his shoulders. He barely kept himself from tripping on the floor by catching the edge of the bed.

Sandy stalked inside after pausing to hang a Do Not Disturb sign on the knob outside, and locked the door with a loud click. Then she rounded on him, “Are you out of your fucking mind!? Bruiser was this close,” she held up a hand with the thumb and index finger an inch apart, “to throwing you out on your ass.”

He stood straight, squaring his shoulders, ready to speak, but Sandy wasn’t quite finished yet. She thrust two fingers into his chest, her face inches from his. “This place stays in business as long as the Galra are happy with it. If humans come in here and cause problems, we get shut down and we’re all out of the job.”

“Yeah,” Lance said, irritated and insulted. “Out of the job of sleeping with aliens.”

He instantly regretted his words just as they left his mouth, but before he could offer a quick apology, Sandy’s fist connected with his midsection. All the air left his body and he sagged to his knees coughing, his vision blurring. He was grabbed by the hair and yanked upward to look Sandy in the eyes.

“Don’t you dare judge us,” Sandy said scathingly. “Fucking the Galra is how we survive. Leslie had a law degree before the Galra came. Now she’s next door doing whatever she must to feed her kids and elderly mother. Tanisha is taking care of her sick parents and Lori busts her ass here so her kid sister doesn’t have. You think I like spreading my legs for Galra? That’s how I get the intel that saves your asses out there!”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, sorry!” Lance gasped out. Sandy released him and he propped himself up on the bed, taking slow deep breaths until his stomach felt better. Once he recovered enough to stand without feeling dizzy, he straighten and asked, “Do you have what we need?”

“Yeah, I just need time to compile it together in a report.” Sandy walked over to an old chipped dresser and drew a packet of cigarettes from the upper drawer. “Want one?”

Lance shook his head, “No, I’m good.”

He knew Sandy Topps from the Academy. She was one of the top communications officers and had been part of Keith’s training team before he was expelled. She had been a pretty girl with long blonde hair hanging down her back in a silky tail. Before, she had stalked the halls of the Academy wearing the uniform proudly, but now she was here wearing threadbare denim shorts with a stained white tank top with no bra looking deadbeat tired with lines around her eyes. He doubted she had smoked before the aliens came.

They had dated for a short while, but she dumped him when she caught him flirting with other girls. That had been a lifetime ago when his main concerns were girls and his rivalry with Keith. Now everything was different, everything had changed. Everything was now life or death, freedom or enslavement. Though his family had been far away, he could send e-mails and video chat with them, but since the invasion he hadn’t had a chance to communicate with them. He wasn’t even certain they were . . .

No, he told himself, never think that.  He was pulled from the darkness of his unwanted thoughts when the wall began emitting a loud thumping noise.

Sandy snorted, “It sounds like Leslie getting banged hard tonight.”

They listened to the thumps, images of what could be happening next door crawling through their heads. Then the noise quieted down to a long silence. Sandy sat down beside him, taking an ashtray from the dresser and setting it between them. After taking a couple of drags, she said, “Did you get in contact with the other one?”

“Yeah, met him a couple hours ago.”

She didn’t ask about the contact. The less she know, the less information she can give up if she was ever caught and interrogated. The same threat hovered over all their heads. Sandy crossed her legs, taking this quiet moment to enjoy the nicotine in her lungs. She idly tapped ashes into the ashtray, “How long are you guys gonna be here?”

“Dunno,” Lance said. He wasn’t certain if the higher ups even knew themselves. One thing he knew for sure was they were very interested in the munitions factory, but right now having Pidge test the chip drive was the priority. Once he did that, then there would be more orders. “How did you end up here?”

“Remember when they dismissed classes? Sent all the cadets to the bunkers? I went home to find my family,” Sandy took a long drag and slowly released the smoke through her lips. “I never found them. Then I was contacted and sent here to gather intel.”

“Why not work in the factory?” Lance asked. “Couldn’t you collect intel that way?”

Sandy sighed, stubbing out a cigarette in the ashtray. “They did a background check and saw I was part of Galaxy Garrison and wouldn’t hire me. I came in here to get a drink and Bruiser recruited me. Told me I would make more shaking my ass here for one night then I would working a month in the factory.”

“But doesn’t it bother you – no, forget it. It’s none of my business.”

“Look at it this way,” Sandy patted his shoulder comforting. “I get more information this way. Galra soldiers love to brag. I just have to sift through the bluster and bullshit to find the important bits of information. I’m more worried about you being around Margery Kayla.” She stood up and set the ashtray on the dresser and dropped the cigarette pack back inside the drawer. “She’s a nasty piece of work and I heard some scary stories about her. Bruiser says dealing with her is like working with the devil.”

Lance flashed back to the rise and fall of a machete blade. “I think I know what you mean.”

He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, hands hanging loose between them. He sighed deeply, “Sandy, did you think we’d be doing any of this two years ago?”

She was quiet for a while before speaking, “No. I thought I’d be going on missions to Jupiter by now. Nobody saw the Galra coming.”

Lance stood, “I better go. I don’t want Hunk to get scared and wet his pants because I left him alone downstairs.” Before he got to the door, he paused, “What is Keith doing here?”

Sandy groaned, “Lance, please, please, please, don’t start anything with him. He comes in a few nights a week to watch the fights. He doesn’t talk to anyone and he doesn’t drink anything stronger than soda. He’s not even interested in coming upstairs. He just sits there and watches the fights.”

“Does he work in the factory?”

Sandy shook her head, “No, he does odd jobs around the district, like fixing roofs, cars, and deliveries. I don’t think he’s one of us.”

_ Yeah, because he got expelled months before the Galra came along. If he had been around would he be here now on this mission? Instead of me? _

Lance reached into his pocket and drew out a credit chit. “Here. To pay for my ‘half hour’ and something extra for you.”

“Thanks, Lance, you know where to find me.” She was leaning against the dresser with her arms crossed beneath her breasts. She seemed so much older now than when he last saw her. Before she had glowed with youth and aspirations for the future, but now she looked drab, older, spent.  He swallowed, wishing hard as hell that he had been able to make things work with Sandy when she had that glow. He wanted to tell her something brave, something that would bring back that girl he liked, if only for a moment. Lance said nothing, knowing she deserved more than just pretty words.

Downstairs, Hunk was behind the counter poking around at equipment linked to the holo-screen processor under the cautious eye of Bruiser. Lance looked over the bar, “Hunk, what are you doing?”

“Just taking a look,” Hunk said enchanted by the setup. “This is Galra tech! Right here!”

“Keep it down,” Lance hissed, glancing nervously at the Galra patrons. “We can go now.”

“Just a minute, I want to see how this thing works.”

Lance resigned himself to waiting until Hank sated his curiosity. There was no tearing him away from new tech with that gleam in his eye. Especially if it was Galra tech which had been kept out of human hands by law. So what could it hurt?

Glancing at the end of the bar, Lance saw Keith was still there, sipping from the same soda can. Lance doubted he moved one inch from when he last saw him. Keith had always been a strange one; he never went for the things that guys his age should go for. He wasn’t interested in girls despite the dozens who harbored crushes on him in the Academy and he never showed any inclination for going out partying or drinking. He went to classes, trained, and aced all the flight simulators. Sometimes he could be seen reading in the library or working on his hover bike. Despite being the top pilot in the Academy he never worked well with others. His offhanded attitude infuriated classmates and he would be confused and frustrated, never really understanding what the problem was.  There had been fights, but never ones that Keith started. There was always some ass who thought Keith’s aloofness was him having a superiority complex and sought to ‘put him in his place’. Keith never started the fights, but he could finish them efficiently and brutally and no one picked a fight with him twice.

And what’s more, Keith had been the favorite at the Academy. Not just for his top scores, but also because he had the legendary Shiro as a mentor. Whenever Shiro paid a visit to the Academy, he was always seen visiting Keith in the atrium or eating together in the cafeteria. And then he also had the whole orphan thing with no family which drew a lot of bleeding hearts. People were already calling him the next Shiro when he graduated.

But after Shiro disappeared, he changed. He became even more withdrawn and sullen, rarely attending classes and often straying in after curfew. The only thing that Keith stayed on top of was piloting, but even then his scores were beginning to dip. Then came the day Keith attacked Charlie Kroger, the last kid anyone would want to mess with back then. Kroger’s father had connections within Galaxy Garrison and higher ups in the military. After Keith attacked Kroger and his friends, he was kicked out school and with his vacancy, there was an open slot for another fighter pilot which Lance filled that same day.

After the invasion, Lance wondered what had happened to him. Keith had no family to return home to and he had outgrown the foster care system he had came from. Seeing him again now was both an irritation and a relief for some reason. Lance found himself walking towards Keith ignoring the warning look from Bruiser and took the stool next to him. “Hey.”

Keith glanced at him from the corner of one eye. After silent consideration, he gave a cold, but polite, “Yes?”

“Remember me?”

Keith turned his head to see him fully. After a moment, he said, “No, I don’t think so. Why? Do we know each other?”

Lance’s brow furrowed. Well, it has been nearly two years since they last saw each other. “The name’s Lance.”

Keith’s eye didn’t show any sign of recognition. “Ooo-kay, your name is Lance, so what?”

Lance blinked and his fingers tapped on the wooden surface in irritation, “We were in the same class at the Academy.”

Keith stared blankly at him. “Were you an engineer?”

Lance sputtered and had to strain his voice to keep from shouting. “No! I was a pilot!”

The dark hair youth thought for a moment and then groaned, “Oh, now I remember, you were that cargo pilot that couldn’t hack it as a fighter pilot.”

Smirking, Lance thumbed his chest, “Fighter pilot since you got cut.”

Keith’s lip curled, “For what it’s worth now, you can still wipe your ass with it.”

Lance clenched his fists, wanting very much to pummel them into Keith’s face in that moment. He drew a deep breath, trying to steele his nerves, remembering that behind them was a bar full of Galra.

A coke can thunk on the surface before him and above it was a dark look from Bruiser, another silent warning of not causing any trouble. Lance accepted it as an acknowledgment that he knew not to cause a scene. After passing over a few gac coins for the soda, he popped it open and took a long swallow. It had been a long time since he had any sweeten drinks. For the past several months it had been water and rations and whatever booze the soldiers could find or make.

Lance tried a more generic question. “So what have you been doing since you were expelled. How did you end up out here?”

Keith shrugged, “Just odd jobs here and there. I was working on this ranch when Galra showed up. The ranch owners moved to Texas to be with family and I came out here for work.”

“Yeah, uh, the same,” Lance said, despite Keith not asking what he had been up to after the invasion. He also noticed that Keith wasn’t asking about any of their other classmates. It came as no surprise as Keith showed very little interest in others, save for Shiro.

The rebels had been recruiting graduates and former cadets since the end of the war. Most rebel cells were the remains of the military and law enforcement that communicated via radio to organize attacks on crucial Galra facilities in weakening the infrastructure of their control on the region. Keith would be a much welcomed addition to the rebel cause, Lance realized bitterly. He could hear his superiors frothing at the mouth for him to extend an invitation to Keith.

Lance looked away, not certain how much Keith could be trusted. He certainly wasn’t going to tell him now with Galra just feet away from them. He took another drink from his soda and glanced at the holo-screen. An alien advertisement was playing, showing off some strange horn growing formula for a species that valued long horns. Is this what he did? Watch alien television?

When the ad ended, the Galra Empire symbol appeared onscreen trumpeting their anthem. Then a deep, smooth voice began speaking in a long sing-song voice that Lance associated universally with announcers. The screen switched to rankings and pairings written in Galra. Keith lost what little interest his conversation with Lance had held and stared at the screen with surprising intensity. Lance could sense the tension in his body and looked quizzically at him. Did he get that much excitement from the fights?

Then, much to his unease, Galra were beginning to take an interest in the fights too, some of them taking empty spots at the bar to get a closer view. One Galra was taking bets at the other end of the bar. Lance noticed there was a lot of bets being placed on some gladiator called the Champion.

“Aren’t you going to place a bet?” He asked casually, if only to ease the anxiety he was feeling being so close to Galra.

Keith took his eyes from the screen and glared at him, “Not on something like this. The opponents are either helpless non-combatants they force into the arena to face off against psychos and sadists that get off on killing them.”

Lance stared at him incredulous. “Then why are you watching? That’s why you come in here, right?”

“Yeah, but it’s not what you think.” Keith looked away, his hand squeezing his soda so hard the sides were popping. Then he looked back at the screen and pointed, “Look.”

Onscreen were two images of the opponents for the first match. On the right was an alien that looked part Galra with a mouth full of sharp teeth and bulging muscles that looked as if they could break through the veiny skin. He wore a dark brown vest that looked like it was stitched from animal hide, possibly from something sentient, and on the front was flaps of skin. It took Lance a moment to realize they were ears, different types of alien ears. Some looking like velvety dog or cat ears, others were broad and flappy like an elephant’s, and others look shockingly human with different pigments.

And to the left . . .

Lance’s jaw dropped. Shiro. Takashi Shirogane, top pilot of Galaxy Garrison, selected for the failed Kerberos mission, was there onscreen as the second opponent. He was different now with a shock of white hair hanging across his brow and a long scar stretching across the bridge of his nose and beneath his eyes. He was wearing a black coverall suit with a purple over shirt. 

Lance managed to find his voice, “Shiro’s alive!” He pointed at the screen in utter shock.

“I . . .I think so,” Keith said hesitantly.

“What? B-but he’s right here!”

Keith shook his head, “No, this is a recording from three weeks ago. They don’t have relay buoys for their extranet set up to get live feed.”

“Wait, is this why you come here to watch the fights? To see Shiro?”

“Duh!” Keith said sardonically. “You think I like watching this stuff? It’s savage. They’ll showcase strong warriors killing and torturing civilians. One time they had these two warriors fight, but one of them was a woman. When she lost the fight, her opponent raped her before killing her.”

“Gross,” Lance said in revulsion, then in absolute horror. “Shiro has been going through all that? Ever since the Kerberos mission?”

“What do you think happened to them? Some piloting error?” Keith growled under his breath. “Did you really think Shiro could mess that up? That it was all his fault like all those bastards claim?”

“What about the Holts? Are they fighting too?”

“I never saw them in any matches.” Keith pushed his can aside after giving it a small shake to see if there was more coke inside. He pushed it forward for Bruiser to throw away later. He turned his violet eyes on the screen and they harden into a gaze of determination, “I’m going to save him.”

Before Lance could inquire as to how Keith intended to go on an off world rescue mission with no ship and no idea of where Shiro was being kept or even whether he was currently alive or not, the match started. The camera panned the audience, showing off thousands of different alien species all cheering and pumping the air with fists, claws, tentacles, and other appendages, before bringing the arena into full view. Two doors opened on either end of the arena. The hulking alien stalked out of his doorway, brandishing a wicked club with a sharp hook on the end. In his other hand he held a serrated knife with which he made sawing motions, likely in show of sawing off someone’s ear.

From the other end, Shiro walked out, or in better words, limped out. He was favoring his right knee and as the camera zoomed in for a closeup, they could see his face was bruised and swollen, pain underlining the ferocity in his eyes and his strong jaw was set in a determined line.

“Something’s wrong,” Keith breathed, staring at the screen with widening eyes. “He’s hurt.”

“Doesn’t he fight in the arena a lot? Wouldn’t he have gotten hurt before?” Lance said.

“No, this is different,” Keith said in a low voice, laced with smoldering anger, “His last match would have been days ago and those injuries are fresh and he wasn’t limping last time. Somebody just now hurt him and they’re throwing him into the ring to fight that monster.”

“Shit,” Lance hissed, grasping his can so lightly it crumbled in the middle, almost splashing soda over his hand.

They watched mutely as the match began. Shiro kept his distance, backpedaling on a wounded leg, keeping pillars and debris between him and Migo. Sometimes he used his curved sword as a substitute cane on uneven ground. Yet, Migo had every intention of pressing the advantage of having two fully functioning legs. He swung his club over and over, barely missing Shiro who ducked out of the way, once even falling when his knee buckle, with the club swinging where his head had been just seconds ago.

“He’s not going to be able to keep that up,” Keith whispered, his eyes never straying from the screen.

“He needs to go on the offensive,” Lance replied, staring just as intently at the screen.

“That Migo guy isn’t going to give him that chance.”

Around them, Galra were getting invested in the fight. Those who placed their bets on Shiro howled in frustrated and shouted directions at him while others, who placed their bets on Migo, jeered encouragements for him to collect Shiro’s ear. They howled at each near missed and cheered whenever their chosen fighter landed a well placed blow, though, unfortunately, most of these cheers were coming from Migo’s backers.

Shiro was backing up to the edge of the arena borders. Using the wall as support, he gripped the sword with both hands, making his stand. Migo had reach, but with the wall as support, Shiro had the reflexes on his side. He blocked the club with a splash of sparks and then blocked the next swing. Migo was on the offensive and wasn’t going to give Shiro the opening he needed for a retaliatory attack. Each attack was blocked, though each blow took considerable strain to throw off on Shiro’s part. Then Migo got impatient and made a swing towards Shiro’s wounded knee. Shiro wrenched away, in an uncontrolled reflex, forgetting his knee was injured and he fell. Migo moved in and then . . .

The screen went off.

All eyes, both human and Galra, stared at the empty space on the wall in open mouth horror. Cheers died in numerous throats and some astonished croaks were emitted from stunned onlookers. Raised fists were slowly lowered from the air.

“Oh, uh, whoops. My bad.”

The joint gazes of Galra and human lower to the space behind the bar. Kneeling on the ground holding a part of the holo-vid generator in one hand was Hunk offering them a sheepish grin and rubbing the back of his head.

“Uh, you guys weren’t watching that, were you?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will focus on Shiro and Bridget.
> 
> Comments or Kudos is much appreciated. 
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr through RebelCourtesan muse blog.


	8. Shiro, Bridget

The visits were almost weekly now. They would take him from the cell and brought to the same room he first met her and minutes later, she would be brought in. They could be together for three hours before she was taken away and he was returned to his cell. The visits were the light he had in his life now. It was a change from the dreary days in the cell between fights.

Time didn’t pass in the cells. There were no clocks or sunlight to tell him whether it was night or day cycle.  All there were meals and fights.  Before, he had been taken from his cell to the Druid’s labs and came back hurt and changed.  He was just an animal, no more than a fighting dog let out to fight for their entertainment and then used for experimentation.  It was only a matter of time before he died or outlived his usefulness.  Sometimes, he found himself looking forward to it.  It would not just be an escape, but an end to a long stretch of time.  

Until then, he slept when he was tired and ate when food was brought. Between eating and sleeping, whenever he was bored, exercised until he was too exhausted to stay awake. When he knew there was going to be a match soon, he would save his strength and meditate.  Sometimes, Bunto came by to strut and praise Shiro’s accomplishments in the arena.  At first, Shiro long to smashes his hands between what served as Bunto’s fat head and shoulders and find the short neck and throttle the Galra pipsqueak, but then Bunto’s visits was change in the stangnantion of the cell, it was a form of enrichment to speak with his caretaker.    

Then Briget came along and was taste of home, of how life had been before the cell, before the Galra, To speak with someone who from home, to have an actual normal conversation that wasn’t orders being barked or praise for savage deeds.  They spent once visit reminiscing about old films and their favorite actors.  It was so normal, for nearly an hour, he had forgotten where he was and the cell he would be shortly taken back.  

Bridget started sending him care packages. On day, he was startled when a guard suddenly opened the door, flung a packet at him, then shut the door without a word. The packet had been wrapped up in thick paper tied with string. Inside was several packs of alien food, a tablet, and a note in English handwriting.

_ Shiro, _

_ I hope you get this and the guard didn’t just pocket my money and tossed the package into a garbage chute. This package contains alien food I think you’ll like and some digital books from Earth. Don’t worry about me getting in trouble as the guard will get in just as much trouble as me for accepting bribes to take messages. _

_ Being a courtesancomes with perks such as my choice of reading material, but they are scrutinized by Madame Floentha.  You should have seen the look on her face when I asked for War and Peace, so I stuck with books from my women’s lit courses as they don’t seem to have any inappropriate radical thoughts.  I hope you’ll enjoy them.  _

_ Bridget _

It took some tries, but he was able to switch on the tablet which function like the ones back home and scanned the list of titles:  _ Little Women, Jane Eyre, Great Expectations, Pride and Prejudice, Their Eyes were Watching God,  _ and  _ Wuthering Heights. _

He didn’t care about the subjects as the books gave him a doorway that allowed him to escape the cell in his mind, and most of all, it was a much welcome change in his daily routine, a new way to pass the time. He devoured  _ Great Expectations  _ that first day and was halfway through  _ Jane Eyre _ , when he began pacing himself on the reading material. It could be awhile before Bridget could send him more books so he made each book last by reading a chapter every other hour. As the weeks passed, Bridget sent him more books, sneaking him a chip drive, during her visits, with several digital copies for him to download into his tablet hidden in the cell.

However, as much as he enjoyed Bridget’s company, he didn’t look forward to seeing Takor. Takor kept trying to bait him, always glaring, and was there to possessively take back Bridget when their visits ended.

There have been Galra before that had caused him grief in the past. From the guard who sneeringly insulted him, hoping to goad him into attacking so he could openly use the hot rod on him and to the warden who saw fit to starve him for a week after witnessing Shiro spitting on a poster of Zarkon. Both had been cruel, but it felt detached, like they would do it to any prisoner who crossed them, but with Takor, it felt directed. Takor personally didn’t like him, no, the better choice of words that the Galra outright hated him.  

“I think he’s jealous,” Shiro told her during a visit when the conversation turned to Takor.  

They were sitting at a desk playing a game Bridget brought along. It had been given to her by a patron who taught her how to play and in turn she was teaching Shiro. It was a Galra version of chess with small holographic ships instead of game pieces. The holographic images sprouted from small discs separated into purple and black pieces. It was amusing as the ships would tilt and turn as they were moved and if a piece was taken, the defeated ship would burst into colorful flames before evaporating and leaving behind a blank game piece.

“He is,” Bridget said bitterly, sliding a forward freighter to intercept Shiro’s fighter drone.  The freighter tiny engines flared to life as she pushed it forward with a finger and they powered down as it drew its target.  “Don’t worry about him. He’s can’t do anything more than give you ugly looks and say nasty things.”

“Yeah, but what about you?” Shiro remembered how Takor scratched her to bait him. “Has he hurt you before?”  He moved a fighter drone to back up its mate.  It was amusing to see the ship tilt and maneuver across the board until it stopped.   

There was a long silence before she answered, “It doesn’t bear talking about.”

_ So yes, he has hurt you before. _ Shiro thought stormily. There was something between Bridget and Takor, from the way the Galra speaks to her and how Bridget rebukes him. There was a history between them, but it was something that she didn’t care to talk about.

She moved her freighter to the safety of its fleet and he pressed the advantage by moving his starships into formation. His eyes darted between the game to her shoulder. She was wearing long soft blue pants and a top with short puffed sleeves that left her shoulders bare. It looked like a comfortable, casual outfit, that she wore when she was out and about and not entertaining patrons.  At the edge the neckline of her top was a line of red marks in her skin from the back to the front of her shoulder. Those hadn’t been there during her last visit.

“What happened to your shoulder?”  

Bridget looked at it surprised, apparently having forgotten it. “Oh, this? Don’t worry.”

“It looks like claw marks. Did Takor . . .?”

“No, it—it wasn’t him. It’s nothing. It happens sometimes when a patron gets a bit excited,” Bridget kept her eyes on the game, not raising them to meet his.

The Galra claws were non-retractable and he suspected it was the reason why they use holographic interfaces with smaller keys meant for claw tips. Without fur or tough skin, it was plausible they could accidentally scratch someone who had soft skin like a human’s, but it bothered him how she spoke so casually about it as if she only stubbed her toe and wasn’t clawed by an alien while being raped. He was so distracted that he lost the advantage when she brought her flagship around to decimate his squadron of fighter drones.

“Do you want to talk about the elephant in the room?” Bridget asked as her flagship destroyed each drone with tiny little pews pews. “It bothers you that I’m sleeping with Galra?”

“No, it bothers me that you’re being raped by Galra.”

Bridget was quiet for a long time. She toyed with the long red braid of her hair, coiling it around her fingers. “Please, don’t let it bother you.”

“How can it not bother me?” Both his hands, the true and cybernetic one, clenched on his knees. “Knowing that when you leave here, you’re going to a Galra who’s going to hurt you and I can’t do anything to stop it.”

“I’ve been dealing with it for over a year,” Bridget said firmly. “It doesn’t bother me anymore.”

“That worries me all the more.”

Her eyes flashed, “Why?”

“Because it makes me afraid you’ve given up.”

Bridget’s face flushed with sudden anger, which she usually directed at Takor, “You have no idea what I’ve been through. You don’t know how much I had to change to survive here. All they make you do is fight and kill! I had to become somebody else. I don’t even recognize myself anymore from who I was before I got here!”

“Do you think I haven’t changed?” Shiro couldn’t keep the edge from his voice. “Do you believe I like going out there to kill for them? They changed me! Look at my arm! My face!” He didn’t want to shout at her, but the emotional couldn’t be stemmed back.

But it didn’t faze her, “You were trained to fight! You had a military career! I was a devout Catholic! I went to church every Sunday, went to confession every month, and I read my Bible every night! I even went to a private Catholic school run by nuns. I was . . .I wasn’t this . . . whore.”

“No, don’t say that,” Shiro said shaking his head. “Bridget, I’m not judging you and I’m sorry if I made you think I am. I’m frustrated because I hate feeling helpless. You’re the first human I’ve seen since Matt. I protected him and his father during our incarceration and after we were separated, I had no one.”

Her anger deflated and she folded her hands on her lap.  She looked off, her lips was set in a soft sad line. “I’m sorry. Losing them must have been painful.”

“It's not so much as losing them that hurts, but not knowing what happened to them afterwards,” Shiro sighed, remembering those early days in the arena, after he was buoyed up as the Champion and trying to find out where Matt had been taken. The guards only scoffed at him, telling him that if he missed having company so much they could give him a new cellmate to fuck or pummel.  He never saw Matt again.  “I guess I’m just scared of losing you. Especially so soon after finding you.”

“You’re not going to lose me . . .” but she couldn’t meet his eyes when she said it.

* * *

After waking, she had a moment of peacefulness, before the anxiety sprouted in her chest. She rose, pushing aside the sheets and drew a gray wrapper around herself. After ordering the lights on, she went to a dresser and brushed her hair in thoughtful silence, thinking about the upcoming match pitting Shiro the Champion against Migo the Ear Collector.

Instead of locking the psycho up or executing him, they were going to toss him in the ring to do more brutal killings for Galra entertainment. They had already set him loose on a group of hapless slaves. The cameras zoomed and replayed each sequence of him filleting an ear from a poor victim.

It was all she could do to keep from throwing up when she viewed the match with a patron. She never liked slasher horror films or anything with gratuitous violence and gore, never having the stomach for it. Upon becoming a Courtesan, she was subjected to the Galra’s favorite form of entertainment, the gladiatorial games. The bloodier, the better, and Bridget suspected that Galra peacekeepers were given a bonus for bringing in particularly violent criminals.

And they were going to force Shiro into the arena with that monster. What if he made a mistake? Underestimated Migo? Setting the brush down, she rubbed her face, drawing a deep breath and mentally recited a mantra to calm herself.

_ Center. Find your center. Slow deep breaths. One. Two. Three. _

The tension eased from her shoulders. She laid the brush aside and drew her hair back into a loose tail and then washed her face in the small bathroom as part of her morning routine to maintain a clean appearance.  Once she patted her face dry, she returned to the dresser and opened a jewelry box.  

She would be viewing the match with Lord Trizak who gifted her a necklace of a blue stone on a gold chain.  He said it was part of a tribute to the Empire from one of the planets in his domain. The stone seemed to absorb light instead of reflecting it and was always cool to the touch no matter how long she held it in her hand. She would wear it today at the match, to please him.

She looked around her room at the other gifts she received over the past year. When she was assigned to this room, it was bare save for the basic furniture. It was a sign of how much a courtesanwas favored, based on how many gifts she received from her patrons.  Over the past year, she became the owner of jewel whose value could let her retire to the end of her days on Earth, pieces of art that would be the envy of art collectors (a patron gave her an original Van Gogh and Klimt from Earth), and different species of flowers from various planets had graced her room with their aromas. But the gifts she genuinely felt gratitude for was the books.

Mostly, they were digital copies she could read on her tablet, others are of paper and wood she needed the tablet to translate for her. They served as a mental escape she needed on those dark times when the memories wouldn’t leave her alone. Though she had access to the entertainment channels on the extranet vid, which were sometimes entertaining, but did little to let her forget or give her some mental sanctuary.

And there was one more gift she liked just as much as the books. On the corner of her dresser was a cylinder of crystal filled with water. Inside was a fish with brilliant fins that reflected the light in an array of changing colors. It had two little front legs it used to swim and change direction. It stared out through its glass world with bright black eyes that followed her finger when she drew it along the glass surface. Bridget wasn’t sure what its sex was, but she named it Paddles. She watched it perform a circuit from the top of the tank to the bottom in pursuit of her finger as if it were a grub.  She gave the class a gentle tap to tell Paddles goodbye and left her room.  

Her room was one of many along a line of doors keyed to lock and unlock per the Madame’s instruction and not through any will of the occupants. The doors had no names, but numbers. Several Courtesans, of different races and species were coming and going. A courtesanwith pink fur with long lapine ears swept tearfully into a room while another curvaceous woman with rock color skin and a third eye stoically walked into the hall. They both had collars around their necks, like hers. Bridget didn’t speak to other Courtesans, only giving them a quiet nod of acknowledgment. Speaking here wasn’t permitted and Madame was a very strict mistress.

Bridget went to the communal area, a place where courtesans could relax outside of their rooms, watch entertainment vids, or share a meal, but most courtesans preferred their own company. When a courtesan saw another courtesan, she didn’t see a fellow captive or entertainer, but a rival for patrons. Patrons’ affections were the lifeblood of a courtesan, without them she had no value or place in Zenana. A disgraced courtesan was ousted from Zenana and was sent off to serve in a harem for some powerful dignitary of the Empire, auction off to the highest bidder, or sometimes to the Druids’ labs.

Bridget was secured as she had numerous patrons some of which were of the upper crust of the Empire and as far as she knew they were pleased with her. The only comments about her were her visits with Shiro. Though, since it was the Emperor’s wish that sent her to Shiro in the first place, many kept their criticism quiet lest their words should reach the Empire’s ears.

A small blue child was munching on cookies in front of the holo-vid which displayed a pastel cartoon. He had the fur and tufted ears of his Galra father, but had the blue pigmentation of his Sinthis mother. Crumbs were clinging to the front of his purple romper and his thin tail thumped on the couch cushion next to him. Bridget felt immediate pleasure and affection at seeing him.

“Hello, Milo, where’s your Mummy?”

The Galra cub twitched his ears upon hearing her voice. He burbled a reply and then reached for her. Bridget took a seat next to him and he clambered onto her lab, throwing both arms around her neck and burrowing his face into her shoulder. Bridget sat back on a cushion, hugging him close with one arm while rubbing his back with her other hand. He purred loudly in her ear, grabbing a handful of her hair and popping it into his mouth and chewed. He was watching cartoons, chewing, had a belly full of cookies, and a back rub; life was certainly good for this little Galra.

He had been born a month after Bridget arrived in the Heart and it astounded her how much he had grown in little over a year. He was already the size of a five year old and at the developmental stage of a three year old. What would have taken a human child three years to achieve, a Galra child accomplish in one. By two months he was crawling and eating solids with tiny sharp teeth and was easily walking around by four months. As a one year old Galra, he was able to climb, put together whole sentences (when he’s encouraged to), was learning his numbers and letters, and could play simple games.

“Where’s your Mummy? Use your words.”

“’alkin’ t’ addi!” He mumbled through her hair.

“Talking to Daddy?” She translated.

“Umm-humm.”

Milo’s father was a lieutenant serving on his mother’s planet when they met. When she became pregnant, he had arranged for her to be taken to the Heart of the Empire when he was transferred. She took up residence in Zenana, not as a Courtesan, but as a mother of a Galra officer’s child, a place of honor. Now that she had given birth, the father was trying to arrange for both mother and child to be sent to live with his family on a Galra colony world and that involved convincing his wife’s family to take in both child and mistress.

Having an alien mistress or lover was a very common within the Galra military, especially among the officers whose wives are left behind during long tours of duty. And often enough half Galra children were the result of these affairs. Usually, a Galra officer could arrange for both mother and child to take residence in his home, but since Milo’s father married above his station, (his wife’s family could trace their bloodline to Emperor Zarkon’s second daughter, Princess Laira), he didn’t have the freedom to do as he wished in his home as other officers. So for the last month, he has been trying to convince his upper crust in-laws to accept both mother and child, but so far it hasn’t been promising.

The far door opened and Milo’s mother swept in. She came from a tall alien race, nearly the height of Galra and amphibious. Her soft thin skin was pale blue and instead of hair, long twin headtails hung in a coil down her back. Though she wasn’t human, Bridget still thought her beautiful with a small nose and large ebony eyes that gleamed in the light. She was the closest thing Bridget had to a friend in Zenana.

Upon sensing his mother’s approach, Milo spat out Bridget’s hair and wriggled to get down. He ran to his mother, arms up to be picked up for which his she obliged. The little Galra purred happily as she carried him to the couch. Her hands were long with three fingers and a thumb which ended in frog like pads.

“Has he been chewing again?” she asked when she settled in an armchair with her son curled like a comfortable cat in her arms.

“No, not really,” Bridget said tucking the wet gnarled strands of air behind her shoulder. Human babies had pacifiers as soothers while Galra babies had chew rags for their early sharp teeth. And like babies who become attached to their pacifiers, Galra children can have a hard time losing the chewing habit, but while pacifiers can be hidden or taken away, Galra children could make anything into a chew toy; Milo’s favorites were Bridget’s hair and shirts and some of his toys.

Chesina regarded Bridget with a thoughtful, but unreadable gaze. “Milo’s father is on his colony world talking with his wife’s father.”

Bridget swallowed apprehensively. “And?”

“That’s it. I’ll know by the end of the cycle whether I can go to Liva with Milo or not.”

Bridget felt her stomach churn, not understanding how Chesina could say that so calmly. “What happens if they refuse?”

“They’ll take Milo in and he’ll have an older brother and sister to play with. When he’s older he’ll join the Academy on Liva’s moon and become a proud soldier of the Empire.”

Milo purred happily against his mother’s chest and Bridget tried to imagine him grown up and wearing the Imperial armor. Her throat tighten as she imagined this sweet baby being turned into a soldier, into a killer. If Chesina went with him, maybe she could temper the training, the ideology drummed into him.

“What will you do? If you can’t go with him?” Since Chesina wasn’t an actual courtesan, she wouldn’t be permitted to stay if Milo was gone.

“I will return to my planet. I will serve the Temple of Sun for the rest of my days.”

“Is that like a convent? I thought you had family.”

“I did, but I am dead to them now since I broke my engagement to be with Milo’s father.” She stroked Milo’s head, between his tufted ears. “It was an arrangement agreed upon by our parents when I was a small minnow. My family was deeply shamed and will not speak my name nor acknowledge my son. It is good that he can be with his father’s family.”

“But you would willingly give up your son? Like that?” Bridget felt her throat constricting slowly.

“No, it is not willingly I do this, but it is something that must be. My son will be provided in ways I cannot on my own. He is Galra and son of an officer in the Imperial army. He has a future that I will not keep from him.”

_ But what about what he wants? Maybe he wants his mother by his side! What’s going to happen to him without you? What’s happening to my son without me!? _

Before Bridget could think of what she could say next, a servant girl walked in. She was shorter than Bridget by several inches with red skin and speckles dotting her face and arms. Black hair was pulled back into a severe bun flattening her hair to her rounded skull.

She approached them, her crimson eyes on Bridget, “The Madame wishes to see you.”

Bridget covered her eyes with one hand as if to ward off a headache. “Sweet Jesus, I don’t want to see her. Not today.”

* * *

Madame Flo’s office, or lair, as Bridget would call it, was situated in the center of Zenana. Bridget returned to her room to dress in loose fitting pants and tunic with a pair of ankle sandals. Madame Floentha liked seeing her courtesan dressed well and Bridget had the feeling that she needed to smooth over whatever was piquing her this time.  Once she felt presentable she left down the hall towards the heart of Zenana.

Zenana was shaped like an asterisk with three arms dedicated to rooming for the Courtesans and serving girls and the other arms were reserved for training and indoctrination. The lower levels were rooming for patrons or visitors to the station. In the center was where Madame Floentha ruled over Zenana. It was by her discretion of which women became courtesans, what their training entailed, and whether they could stay on or not. As she told Bridget upon first meeting her, that while Emperor Zarkon ruled the known universe, Madame Floentha ruled Zenana with just as much authority as the Emperor Himself. It was the closest thing that Bridget had ever heard her come to blaspheming the Emperor’s name.

Bridget turned down a long hall guarded by two sentries which led up to the door at the far end where several courtesans in different states of dress were waiting in a line. One was wearing full dress as if she were about to see a patron, another wore only a wrapper, and a third in shirt and pants like Bridget. As she approached all of them saw her and grimaced.

Bridget slowed her stroll and came to a halt when the largest of the three stepped in her way. The alien woman reminded Bridget of one of those old fertility idols with a round shape and heavy breasts. Her skin was hard and smooth like plastic and her eyes were slanted into long lines with vertical slit pupils. With a solid finger as thick as a sausage, she pointed at Bridget’s chest.

“No, no, no, you not go in there and piss on Madame!” The big courtesan grunted at her. “You piss on her! She pisses on us!”

“Excuse me?” Bridget was taken back at the accusation.

“She means,” a brindle fur alien woman in a wrapper stepped forward, “you make Madame mad and she takes it out on us!”

The third alien, a willowy woman with long antennas that looped up from the edges of her eyes chimed in with a reedy voice, “Yeah!”

Bridget squared her shoulders, “I’m not going in there to make her mad, I promise.”

“You Red Hair Woman, you breath and she growls like something nasty bit her and stole her babies.” The large alien woman spoke in her guttural voice.

“I’m sorry, I’ll try not to breathe too loudly,” Bridget sighed, deeply annoyed. “Now move out of my way or you’re going to be the ones pissing Madame off.”

She sidled around them, feeling their angry eyes on her with every step. One of them muttered an insult in a metaphor from her culture for which Bridget was glad she didn’t understand. Getting into a fight right outside of Madame’s doors would not be a good start for the day. But she did retort back, “To hell with you, then.”

Next to the large door was a black panel where Bridget pressed her thumb. After a few moments, the door identified her and notified Madame of her presence at the door. Then the doors opened granting her entry. They closed behind her as she walked onto the fine carpeted floor. On either side of her were wall fountains that trickle water with rich purple lights glowing in the backdrop. The short hall led out into a larger room that looked like the cross between a flora shop and an executive office. Plants with floral fruit stood in corners and hung from the ceiling. Bridget had to duck to keep from hitting her forehead against one.

Sitting behind the desk was a large Galra woman with deep purple skin and tufted ears curled down in an femme fatale curl. She was older with lines around her eyes and mouth. Dark makeup made her amber eyes glow brightly and she sucked on the stem of a long cheroot. She studied Bridget impassively as she approached, then broke out in a grin, like a mother welcoming a child home from school.

“Have a seat, Bridget, did you have a good rest? Commander Liira said you and he had quite a night.”

“Um, no, Madame, we didn’t,” Bridget said softly. “I was with Captain Hawth.”

“Ahhhh, that’s right.  I was mistaken.”

_ No, you weren’t, you hag. You were testing me to see if I can remember my patrons names. I haven’t even sat down and already you’re looking for a reason to smack me.   _ Bridget kept her eyes lowered and her face blank, forever hiding her true thoughts.  

On Madame Flo’s desk was a rack with colorful array of fans. They stood straight within the rack like kitchen knives. More than once, if an offender was out of reach, Madame has thrown a fan with the precision of a sniper’s scope to correct a courtesan or serving girl. Then she would have a nearby serving girl fetch her the fan to be utilize again in any further necessary disciplinary matters. With her rack of fans, she had plenty of ammunition.

Bridget sat in one of the lower chairs in front of Madame’s desk meant for shorter species and waited. The Madame tapped at her terminal in a thoughtful repose. She continued this for several long minutes, but Bridget knew this game. The longer she makes someone wait the more likely they are to fidget nervously as if fearing they were in trouble and this helped Madame determine if the one before her is the guilty party or not. Bridget leaned back in her chair, bringing one heel up on the seat to rest her hands on the knee and waited.

Finally, Madame pushed her terminal aside and fixed Bridget with her bright gaze. “There’s a few things we need to discuss. Let’s start with the item of least importance and go from there. Let’s talk about your reading selection, shall we?”

“What’s wrong?” Bridget lowered her leg to scoot to the edge of the chair getting worried. She had tried to be so careful in what she chose.

“As the head of Zenana, it’s my responsibility to ensure all of my courtesans understand their roles within the Empire and the honor it is to serve those who make it strong. However, I don’t think you’re assimilating as you should be, as evident from your reading material.” Madame brought up a list on her terminal holo-screen. “Explain these titles for me.  _ The Secret Life of Bees _ .”

“Bee’s have secrets,” Bridget said with no inflection of her tone.

“Ah, and  _ Lolita _ ?”

“A romance novel . . . I think it could be called that.”

“ _ Bastard out of Carolina _ ?”

“A bastard who lives in Carolina.”

“ _ Flowers in the Attic _ ?”

“How to grow flowers in your attic.”

“And this one,  _ The Color Purple _ .”

“How to love purple men,” the words were barely out of her mouth when a fan spun through the air and smacked across her forehead. Bridget’s eyes watered as she clutched the spot with both hands. The fan fell to the floor spreading open revealing the symbol of the Empire.

“You little smart mouth whelp,” Madame Floentha growled, flashing sharp white incisors at her. “Do you think I’m stupid? That I didn’t read the summaries of these books before calling you here? And tell me, dear, what is the common theme these books share?”

Bridget lowered her hands to her knees. There was a red mark her on her face where the fan had hit her. “Abuse.”

“Abuse? Oh, my, that isn’t a pleasant topic to read about. Why would you want to read such dreary books? It couldn’t be that you think you’re being abused, is it?”

Bridget swallowed back an answer she knew would send another fan across her face, and tried to deflect the question. “When I asked for  _ Gone with the Wind _ and  _ War and Peace  _ you said I was getting ideas about the Earth being inva . . .Earth being brought into the Empire. And when I asked for  _ Beloved  _ and  _ Kindred _ , you said I was getting ideas above my place in the Empire. What can I read without you accusing me of having bad thoughts?”

Madame’s face broke into a wide toothy grin. She had been waiting for this question. She tapped a key on the terminal and turned the holo-screen for Bridget to read. “I have just the list for you.”

Bridget leaned close to read. At the top of the list was a series of cookbooks and gardening books which were pretty damn useless as food was provided for her via a food dispenser in her room already prepped and cooked and as for gardening, the atrium on the station was maintain by drones and servants. Below those was a few books of proper manners and home keeping tips for women that hailed from the time before the women’s rights movement. There were pictures of women wearing house dresses and heels beaming in delight at new kitchen appliances while adoring clean shaven husbands in suits.  And last, but not least was the  _ Wonder of Woman _ , a guide for girls going through their menarche.

“I’m sure you’ll enjoy this list I prepared for you and I shouldn’t expect anymore silly book requests from now on, will I?” These last words were said with an edge of warning in them.

Bridget looked away, her hands clenched on her knees. “No.” It seems she’ll have to rely on her patrons to provide her blacklisted reading material from now on.

“Good, now onto our next topic of concern. Your visits with the Champion.”

Bridget maintained a curious, concerned look and not reveal the sudden dread creeping through her chest. “Is something wrong?”

“A courtesan must love her patrons, but never show favoritism, unless they earned it through their deeds for the Empire. The Champion is a different matter and there have been comments made about your relationship with him.”

“My relationship with him is no different than with any patron, Madame,” Bridget said strongly. “If it’s because he’s non-Galra, then what about when Aisha was sent to entertain the Volare dignitary?”

“Aisha returned to her duties with no changes in her behavior and had no inclinations towards him since and maintain a healthy relationship with her patrons. Your patrons can sense you’re a bit engross with this man.”

Bridget didn’t look away as doing so would could be seen as guilt.  She had been very careful while discussing the Champion with her patrons and though there had been questions, there hasn’t been any apparent jealousy, at least none that she could read. Madame Flo was watching her expectantly, but for what? Bridget realized that she was fishing, trying to bait her to get her to reveal some guilt. None of her patrons had complained at all, so what game is she playing?

Bridget bit her lips in a show of being nervous and took a gamble. “If it bothers my patrons for me to visit the Champion, then perhaps I should stop seeing him.”

Madame Flo’s deep purple brows rose in surprise and Bridget felt a glow of victory. “I didn’t say you should cease seeing the Champion. I wanted to be sure that you’re emotions are prioritized correctly.”

“They are. My patrons are precious to me and I don’t want them to believe my feelings have shifted to some gladiator,” Bridget pressed forward, seeing how far she could push this. “I won’t visit him if that is the . . .”

“Stop,” Madame Flo held up a large hand, manicure claws painted crimson. “If anyone is to decide if you should stop your appointments with anyone, it’s me. As of right now, it’s harmless for you to continue your meetings with him. If there’s any concerns regarding the matter, I’ll deal with them myself.”

There was something in her inflection, a sudden need to halt Bridget’s line of talk. Almost like a small panic in her little game backfiring. Bridget filed this way to consider later, but found it very interesting and relieving to know that Madame Flo did not want her visits with Shiro halted.

“Now onto our last topic of discussion,” Madame Flo recovered, showing no hint of the earlier fright she had unwittingly revealed. “I’ve received a request to become one of your patrons.”

Bridget crossed her legs, still taking pleasure in her victory, but intrigued as receiving a new patron never warranted a visit to Madame Flo’s office before. Usually, the information was sent to a basic terminal in Bridget’s room with the patron’s name and information along with time and location of the first meeting.

Madame Flo said nothing, waiting.

Bridget hated it when she played games like this. “Who is it?”

The Galra woman’s eyes almost glowed when she said, “Commander Prorok.”

Bridget felt the floor fall out beneath her. Her body couldn’t become colder than if ice water had been thrown on her. She couldn’t hide the fear that stabbed her heart and her mouth went dry rendering her speechless.

Madame Flo waited until Bridget was able to form words. It took her several attempts, but she managed to whisper, “He . . . isn’t he still on Earth?”

“He has shore leave coming up and he’s going to spend it in Zenana. He wanted to know if you would be available.” Madame Flo leaned back in her seat, taking a long drag on her cheroot, her eyes, though without pupils, were apparently on Bridget’s face taking in her reaction.

A reaction that Bridget couldn’t hide. Her face was white, lips trembling. Memories assaulted her, unwanted and intrusive, dragging her back to a dark place she never wanted to visit again.

_ The pressure on her wrist before it broke. _

_ Her face pressed against a cold metal floor. _

_ A low scratchy voice telling her to be still. _

Thankfully, she hadn’t eaten anything earlier or she would be throwing up. Clutching her stomach, forcing herself to recover and focus. “No. Never. Not him. Anyone but him.”

Madame Flo leaned forward, taking her cheroot from her mouth to click the stem against her teeth in thought. Then she said, “Courtesans are not allowed to refuse a patron, you know that. I suggested other courtesans, but he was insistent upon you.”

Bridget felt tears pricking her eyes and she slapped her thighs in consternation. “You know what he did to me!”

“Yes, I know.” Madame Flo folded her hand hands together on the desk. “Let me assure you that I informed Commander Prorok that rough treatment will not be tolerated.”

“Rough treatment is bruises and scratches, but that bastard . . . he - he beat me. You can’t make me . . .”

“Oh, I can make you do just about anything as I am sure you are aware,” Madame Flo said severely, her brows narrow down between her eyes. “You cannot pick and choose your patrons.”

A rising scream was threatening to tear from her throat, but then Madame Flo, as if sensing the outburst, waved a hand in an almost dismissal. “However, I do not want my courtesans overtaxed by servicing too many patrons of which you have so many. I informed him that as of right now, you are stretched too thin to properly entertain him as he deserves.”

Just as Bridget was about to sag with relief, Madame Flo continued, “I told him that I’ll put his name on a waiting list. If you should lose a patron, then he will take that vacancy. As long as your patrons are happy, then you have nothing to worry about.”

Bridget clenched her fists, giving into the anger for a moment, before lifting her eyes to meet Madame Flo’s somberly. “Thank you.”

“Though you may think differently, but I do take care of my courtesans,” Madame Flo said firmly. “Remember that.”

* * *

When the door of the cell opened, Shiro was surprised to see it wasn’t the sentry drones that usually fetched him for a match. It was a Galra guard motioning to him with a gun.

“Stand up and give me your back.”

Shiro set aside the tablet he had been reading and rose to his feet. Hopefully it’ll still be there when he got back. Approaching the doorway, he noticed something wasn’t right. The guard was nervous, glancing up and down the hall outside the cell and it was too early for him to be taken to the fights.

“What’s wrong?”

“Get over here and turn your back.” The guard raised his gun, directing the business end at Shiro’s chest. “Now.”

Something was up, but Shiro couldn’t do anything about it at this point. Resigned to take what may come, he turned his back to the guard and felt the familiar weight of shackles enclosing his wrists. Then he was shoved forward.

With his arms trapped, it was difficult to maintain his balance, and he fell hard across the floor, nearly hitting his head on the edge of the cot. When he landed, he rolled onto his side and hefted himself up onto his knees. The pain in his head cleared enough for him hear talking outside.

“You have twenty minutes. No more,” the nervous guard said.

“That’s all I need,” a familiar voice replied.

Shiro groaned, not in pain from the fall, but in dread of what he knew was coming next. Looking over his shoulder, he saw a Galra stroll inside the cell, closing the door behind him. The Galra’s mismatched eyes gleamed at him in orange and white.

“I think it’s time you and I had a chat, Champion,” Takor said with a malicious smile.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments or Kudos is much appreciated. 
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr through RebelCourtesan muse blog.


	9. Thace, Keith, Lance

The cell stank of piss and vomit, like the occupant before them didn’t have proper access to a toilet. On the chipped walls was old penciled graffiti of insults, phone numbers, and doodles. The floor carried stains that looked as foul as the odors. There was a bench set at the back wall that was long enough for two people to lay foot to head.

“Don’t make a scene, you said,” Lance muttered leaning against a wall, the cleanest patch he could find, hands thrusts deep into his pockets and scowling at the bars. “Don’t start a fight! Don’t draw attention!  You said!”

“Lance . . .” Hunk whined from his seat on the bench. “I said I was sorry . . .”

“Just couldn’t resist putting your damn hands on whatever technological junk you can find!” Lance kicked at the floor in utter frustration. If there had been a stone or a can, he’d have kicked it as hard as he could.

“Just shut up,” Keith said from where he sat next to the bars, wedged in his own corner opposite them. “You’re not helping.”

“Helping?” Lance rounded on Keith and clutched his bruise ribs with a wince. “Okay, Hotshot, what will help the situation?”

“Shutting up for one thing!” Keith said evenly. “And not pissing them off anymore than your friend already did.”

“Hey, my friend has a name, it’s Hunk!” Lance threw a finger towards Hunk who really didn’t want to be involved in this argument. “You don’t remember him from class either?”

Keith looked at Hunk, “Yeah, I remember him. Our instructor said he’d make it better as a fry cook than an engineer.”

“Hey!” Hunk exclaimed, but then reconsidered. “He was probably right . . .”

Scandalized, Lance gaped at Keith. “You remember him,” he jabbed a finger at Hunk, “but you can’t remember me!” he pointed at his face.  “Your rival!”

“Keep it down,” Keith hissed. “You’re going to get us in more trouble!”

“We’re already in trouble! He broke their tv and you pulled a knife on them.”

“And you threw your coke can at their CO’s head!”

“It slipped!”

* * *

_ “Uh, you guys weren’t watching that, were you?” _

_ What happened next was a cacophony of curses, shouts, moans, and roars which was followed by chairs and tables being up ended and then punches being thrown as drunk Galra didn’t know which way to direct their anger. Hunk hunkered behind the bar with Bruiser which put them just out of reach of flailing Galra claws. Keith and Lance, who were on the other side of the bar, weren’t so fortunate. _

_ Lance was lifted up by the collar and slammed onto the bar. The air left his lungs in a long whoosh of air intermingle with a pained moan or wheeze.  A sizable Galra fist was raised ominously in the air above his face and just as Lance was bracing himself for the blow, Keith threw himself at the Galra, delivering deft punches in the ribs. Lance slid to the floor when he was released, wincing as his ribs protested against any movement. _

_ There was a flash of metal from Keith’s hand who was backing towards the door. It took Lance another glance to realize it was a knife with the handle wrapped in cloth. Galra were advancing on him, one of them held the broken leg of a chair and another had a broken glass bottle, the sharp ends still wet from the drink it once contained. This would be a scene out of a movie bar fight if it wasn’t that the opponents were tall purple aliens. _

_ Keith was still backing towards the door, but he would never make it in time. A Galra was coming around the crow, out of Keith’s line of sight. It was a tall, shirtless bastard with white streaks at the tufted ears. He passed through easily as Galra stood aside to let him pass.  Lance tried to holler a warning, but his possibly cracked ribs wouldn’t let him take the breath needed to do so. Then he realized he was still holding a coke can and let it fly. _

* * *

“It’s a wonder they didn’t take us around back and shoot us,” Hunk muttered.

“Oh, I heard them talking about it,” Lance grumbled, resuming his position against the wall. “That might still happen, ya know.”

“Yeah, Lance, don’t try to make me feel any better,” Hunk said sardonically.

Keith pulled his legs up to his chest, shooting a dark look at them both. He had been so careful in going to that bar and then these two jokers show up and everything’s ruined at the worst possible time. Without seeing the end of the fight, Keith had no idea if Shiro was still alive or not and on top of everything, he had lost his knife.

* * *

_ He needed to get to the street. He tried to help Lance, but there was no more he could do for him and there was no way to get to Hunk. A retreat was the only solution here and he would worry about the others later. The Galra were advancing slowly, murder in their eyes, and if they caught him they would tear him apart. _

_ From the corner of his eye, he saw a can spin in an arc over his head. There was a grunt of surprise as the tin can collided with the head of a Galra coming up behind him. Keith spun at the waist, the knife becoming a silvery blurr, which ended when a large clawed hand caught his wrist. He was lifted up by the hand and his wrist squeezed until the feeling left his fingers. _

_ “Drop it.” _

_ Keith gritted his teeth and punch with his free hand, but that too was caught in the Galra’s other hand. The Galra was tall, like his fellows, but shirtless, his upper body covered in fine purple fur. His tufted ears had twin white streaks from the temples to the tips. _

_ With a short twist at the wrist, Keith’s numb fingers forfeited the knife. The Galra released Keith’s wrist and dexterously caught the knife as it fell. Then he turned the youth over to be arrested by the more sober Galra present. _

* * *

“What are they doing now?”

“Bickering, sir. I have sentries on stand by with riot foam in case they start attacking each other.” Izex adjusted the cameras to zoom in on the cell.

They had utilized an old human police station as a local detention center by upgrading the security cameras with drones that could record sound and video along with magnetic seals for the cells. The office they occupied had been the sheriff’s old office before she was relieved of duty upon the Galra’s arrival. The wall was lined with security screens and could access information via the extranet.

“And they have hot rods if the foam doesn’t work,” Isex continued with an edge on his tone.

Thace considered Izex for a moment. “You had a lot of money riding on that match, didn’t you?”

Izex was quiet for a moment, considering. “Yes sir, I did. I won’t know if I won or not until the next fight.”

Thace mentally shook his head, but resumed watching the youths in the cell. The lanky brown hair youth was making the most noise and a lot of it was directed at the dark haired youth who had opted to sit away from the others. The large one was sitting quietly in misery, though sometimes chiming in whenever he was mentioned.  Even among his own peers, the dark haired youth sits away in a corner, closest to the door, despite it being a locked door. The brown hair youth was all bluster, strutting back and forth with aching ribs and the dark haired youth, Keith,  _ his name is Keith _ , took it all in stride with only scowls and dark looks from his violet eyes.

“Did you scan their IDs?” Thace asked, his eyes on the screen past Izex’s shoulder.

“Yes sir, the two idiots both have IDs, but the third one has an expired request slip for a pass and ID.”

“He didn’t try to get a pass?” Thace inquired, interested.

Izex tapped a few keys and read the data brought up on the screen. “He did. Weeks ago, but there was an error with the processing so his permission slip warranty was extended. I can contact the admin office to see what the problem is.”

“Do so and have the details sent to directly to my terminal and take him to interrogation. I’ll be there shortly.”

“Yes sir.” Izex picked up telecommunications device to relay the order.

Thace turned away once Izex’s back was turned, his hand going to the handle of the knife at his hip. His fingers curled around the handle which both felt familiar and foreign. The blade was of luxite metal, a metal long forgotten save for one sect.  _ His  _ sect.

* * *

_ He had stopped at the head of the stairs seeing the chaos unfolding below. A quick survey told him what he needed to know. The holo-screen was dead and a heavy-set human youth sitting beside the projector with a crucial piece in hand. He roared for order, but it was drowned out in the discord of angry shouts and curses. _

_ He looked at the end of the bar and saw his youth gone and just before he could take relief in that he was out of danger, did he see him attacking one of his men who pinning another youth, one Thace had never seen before, on the bar. _

_ “Dammit,” he hissed under his breath as he descended the stairs three at a time. He had to intervene before his men torn him apart. _

_ Weaving through the twist of bodies, Thace came close enough to see the ring surrounding the youth who was on the defensive, a knife in hand. Upon seeing the knife Thace’s blood chilled and he was grateful that Bruiser had a no weapons policy that Thace found prudent to enforce. If not, the youth would be ripped apart in a torrent of blaster rounds. _

_ He moved along the ring of the crowd, swiftly maneuvering through them, sometimes growling an order to stand down as he went. Some listened, standing back or going back to their seats, others too drunk to understand wobbled back into their tables and mates.  The youth was close enough to the door he could reach behind him and touched it. He had only seconds to stop him.  If he ran . . .  _

_ Thace moved in, his attention so focused on the youth, he didn’t noticed the can flying through the air until it connected with his temple. The can was only a quarter full, but the impact was loud enough to halt his men in their rage to freeze in unison at the sight of an officer being assaulted. _

_ It also alerted the dark haired youth to his presence. In one fluid motion, the youth spun, the knife forming a perfect arc of silver. If Thace did not have the years of intensive training he received from both the Galra military and his sect, the blade would have found his lesh. He caught the youth’s wrist and held fast, pulling him off his feet. _

_ “Drop it,” he ordered. _

_ The youth’s brilliant eyes flashed with rage and determination and Thace read his next move. “Go to hell.” _

_ It was almost like stopping a flailing child, how easily he blocked the next blow. He had to end it quickly before his men thought to intervene on his behalf. The wrist was like a living twig in his hand, the naked skin soft and smooth. Squeezing, he felt the bones within cracking against the pressure and the knife left the youth’s fingers. Knowing the youth wouldn’t be able to use his hand right away, he released it and caught the blade before it fell beyond reach, all while maintaining a grip on the other hand. _

_ Tucking the knife in his waistband, he spun the youth around and wrench his wrists behind his back before he had a chance to make another move. Now that the danger had been removed, he was able to process for the first time that this was the closest he had been to the youth since he first laid eyes upon him. _

_ The rise and falls of the thin shoulders as he took deep breaths, the way the still damp hair lay upon his neck, the soft skin breaking out in tiny bumps as adrenaline still rushed through the veins beneath. The youth was skilled, but rough around the edges. He had moved with definite intent and with a relentless swiftness. Though Thace had sated his need a while ago upstairs, he felt it returning like a crashing wave. _

_ Izex appeared at his side, hauling the brown hair youth who struggled and groaned with pain, bemoaning his ribs. “I got this one and Tobiar is getting the other one out from behind the bar.” _

_ Thace felt the need dash away like a frighten animal and he cursed himself for getting distracted. “Take them to lock up and close this place for the night. Everybody turns in right now.” _

* * *

It wasn’t until later when he examined the knife that he saw what the cloth hid. He kept the knife hidden in his bodysuit and thankfully it was forgotten by his men. The knife was made of luxite metal, a rare metal from a planet gone for so long the name was only remembered by a few. The symbol on the hilt glowed an icy blue color shaped like a strip of lightning.

How did this knife come to be on this planet? As far as he knew, he was the only member of his sect here. Did others come without his knowing? It was always possible there was a mission underway he wasn’t informed of. Information was sacred and treated only on a need to know basis. If this was true, and another of his sect was on this planet, then how did it come into the youth’s possession?

The only way a member of the Blade of Marmora would part with their blade was if it was stolen or lost. No member would ever forsake their blade willingly. It was always hidden away on their person. His blade was in his boot, strapped to his calf in a leather sheath.

The dark haired youth was taken from the cell much to the alarm of the other two. Keith said nothing, his eyes hard as stones as he was taken into the interrogation room. For some reason, human law enforcement saw the need to not only set in a one way mirror so interrogations could be supervised and with a camera to record the proceedings. Keith was shoved into a metal chair and his shackles secured to a ring soldered onto the table’s center. The Thace entered the room just as the guard was cracking his knuckles, ready to put them to good use in aiding in the interrogation.

“You may go.”

“Sir?”

“You may go. I won’t need assistance.”

The guard looked confused, uncertain at this new direction in protocol, but Thace gave him a camaraderie smirk, “I was upstairs enjoying myself when I was interrupted and then this one had the gall to attack me.”

The guard gave him a knowing smile, full of mirth at Thace’s implied pernicious intentions. “Yes sir, I understand. Vrepit Sa.”

“Vrepit Sa,” as always the words felt thick on his tongue.

He waited until the guard had gone, with his echos of his footsteps disappearing down the hall. He shut and locked the door and thought carefully. Izex was manning the main office, the guard had gone, it was late night, almost the early morning hours. He checked the viewing room for any personnel then jammed the lock to keep the curious from watching through the one way mirror.  The camera had been disabled when they took over the building, replacing surveillance with advance tech which he turned off before going in.  Though they would be alone with no one to witness or hear their exchanges, but he still must choose his words carefully. He cannot threaten the secrecy of his sect.

Then a wave of heat expanded through his stomach as he caught the scent of the youth just yards away from him. He realized also they were  _ alone _ . To think that hours ago he was imagining, fantasizing, such an event and now here it was, though under very different circumstances than he would have wanted.

He pushed the heat down, mentally reciting a mantra for an empty mind and then focused on the task at hand. He turned around to face the human and the mantra skipped in his head. The youth was glaring at him, brilliant violet eyes narrowed into flints. Like the guard, the human believed that Thace was going to ‘make him pay’ and he was ready for it. His jaw was clenched to hold back any cries of pain and the tightness of his lips declared he would not beg.  This would not be his first time enduring cruelty.  

Conflict twisted inside him. He couldn’t reassure the youth of his wish to cause him no harm, but he couldn’t ease the tension as answers were dearly needed. He pulled the knife from his belt and saw the sudden freeze in the youth’s face at the sight of it, likely believing it was to be used on him.

“I have questions,” Thace said laying the knife on the table in an innoxious manner. “and you have answers.”

Keith said nothing, his eyes slowly moving from the knife to Thace. His small, but strong clawless hands were curled into tight fists and he sat with his back straight and stiff.  Energy was shooting his narrow frame like electricity through wires.  

“Where did you find this?” Thace touched the knife, the metal making a soft hiss as it moved on the table surface.

The youth blinked, his eyes widening in surprise for a moment, not expecting this question, but then narrow in disdain. “I didn’t find it. I’ve had it my whole life.”

“That’s not true,” Thace said firmly. “Again, I will ask you, where did you find this knife?”

“And again, I will tell you,” the youth said mockingly, “I had it my whole life. Ever since I was a little kid,”

Thace felt the tension rippled through him. He was as defiant as a cornered animal who hadn’t given up on life. “How old are you?”

“Nineteen,” Keith muttered.

“Nineteen. I do believe that the first time off worlders set foot on this planet was our arrival two years ago . . .”

“Invasion.”

Thace’s eyebrows rose, taken back by the gall of this interruption.

Keith’s eyes were burning into his with open defiance. “Isn’t that what you did? Took over our world with an armed force? You killed any opposing forces and subjugated the population. Then start ruling through fear and threat of execution and enslavement, which I believe is the definition of tyranny. Am I wrong?”

This was the most he had ever heard the youth speak. More than he had expected to hear from him and the conviction in his voice was another surprising note. Though he was aloof from his own kind, he didn’t like what had happened to them, what was happening to them now. Thace wondered if he had taken up arms during the initial conflict.  He could have been part of the scattered remnants of the US military and if that was so, then it was dreadfully possible that he could have links to a rebel cell.

Keith held up his hands in a mockery of supplication. “Sorry if that offends you, but when I see a turd, I call it a piece of shit.”

If it had been anyone else, but Thace, then Keith would have received a beating that would broken his bones and scar his flesh. Thace didn’t wish to do that, but he couldn’t let it pass. For the sake of secrecy, to hide his identity, even from this youth, he backhanded Keith across the face. The blow would have carried him to the floor if it wasn’t for the shackles securing him to the table. Keith was jolted from the chair which toppled onto the floor and he sagged against the table, held in place by the shackles.

In one motion, Thace grabbed the chair, righted it, and hauled Keith up by the arm and set him on it. Keith lifted his head, a streamer of blood drawing a red line down his chin. A wet tongue swabbed at it and Thace felt heat unfurling in his chest at the sight. It wasn’t sexual, the youth was probably checking to see if it was blood he felt on his face, but the act was no less erotic for Thace. His throat ached with a desperate longing to lick that blood off the youth’s face. To draw his tongue along the smooth skin and sculpted face, to taste the salt on his flesh and the life in his blood and feel the slippery fluid slide inside his mouth and down his throat.

The youth fixed him with a glare without trace of fear or regret. Thace swallowed, but continued with the interrogation. “As I was saying, it is not possible for this blade to have been on this planet in your childhood as the metal of this knife is extraordinarily rare and the only way it could come to this planet is if it was brought here by one of my people, and no Galra came here before two years ago. So again, I will ask you, and this time, I will expect the truth, where did you get this knife?”

Keith stared with fire burning behind his eyes. “I had it all my life.” When Thace opened his mouth to retort, Keith said loudly, “It’s the truth! I found it among my father’s things when he passed away and I kept it.”

Thace’s eyes sought Keith’s for any signs of deception or untruth. The youth believed what he was saying, that much was certain, or he was one hell of a liar. “Why is the symbol covered?” Perhaps, the youth will let something slip if he played along.

“A foster mother saw it and thought it was Satanic.” At Thace’s questioning look, Keith filled in, “She thought it was evil and took it away. I got it back, but I kept the symbol hidden so it wouldn’t happen again and I guess I got used to it being wrapped up, I never bothered undoing it.”

“Do you know what the symbol means?” Thace tapped it with a claw tip.

Keith shrugged, “I don’t know. I always thought it was a fancy Asian character.” Then it was the youth’s turn give him the questioning looks. “Why are you so interested in it?”

Thace scooped up the blade and tucked it into his belt. “We will do this again tomorrow and maybe a day in lock up will encourage you to be truthful.”

“I am telling the truth!” Keith yelled, rising to his feet as Thace headed for the door.  He could only stand at a stoop as his shackles were still connected to the table, but even standing at an odd position did little to hampen the ferocity in his expression.  “Give me back my knife!”

Thace ignored him, stepping through the door and strolling down the hall. He found the guard smoking a  _ cedair  _ in the main office with Izex and ordered them to move Keith to a different cell from the other two. Then he went back to his quarters within the garrison.

He considered what the youth told him and since he couldn’t determine the validity of his words, he would have to do his own background check into Keith to see how the truth and lies were strung together, but undermining his task was what was playing over and over in his mind’s eye was Keith’s beautiful eyes, so full of defiance and bravery and the quick movement of his tongue across a streak of crimson.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be a bit different as it will mostly be a flash back episode for Bridget through the POV of a new character.
> 
> Comments or Kudos is much appreciated. 
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr through RebelCourtesan muse blog.


	10. Lance, Thace

“Oh man, oh man, he’s dead.” Hunk was rocking back and forth on the bench, making the wood creak in protest against so much weight rocking on its surface.

“Shut up, Hunk,” Lance muttered as he paced the length of the cell.

“You shut up! We probably got him killed!”

“He’s not dead. Keith may be an ass, but he’s tough. Hell, the bullets would probably bounce off his hard head.”

“Don’t joke about that, man!” Hunk cried. “They’re probably taking his body to an incinerator right now.”

“If he’s dead, then there’s nothing we can do for him! We need to worry about ourselves because we’ll be next!”

“Do you think . . .th-that they know . . .” Hunk’s dark face was going several shades paler.

“I don’t know!”

They haven’t been in the district for 24 hours and already it had gone to shit. Their orders had been to lay low, not draw attention, and already they had been involved in an altercation in a bar full of Galra, got arrested, and possibly looking at enslavement or execution. And on top of that they were due to report via the radios within a few hours. If they don’t report, then the whole mission is a bust and the rebels will considered them deceased and cut their losses.

The first chance he had to prove his mettle to his superiors and it goes up in ashes not one day after deployment. To at least prove it to Commander Iverson.

* * *

_ The Commander had a gruff exterior before the invasion, but not only did he look gruffer now, he also seemed older. The turmoil of losing a war against invading aliens and seeing the downfall of a country he had served patriotically for his adult life had not been kind to him. White and gray peppered the beard that had grown beyond the trimmed goatee he wore during their time in the Academy and his hair had sprouted from the military cap he still wore. Another addition from the war was a long scar across his left cheek, from an injury that had threaten to take out his remaining eye, but had left a slight harelip at the edge of his mouth. _

_ He regarded Lance with his remaining eye narrowed critically. “Son, I ain’t gonna lie. You ain’t my first, second, third, or hell, even my fifth choice for this mission. The ones I would have sent are on other missions, went home to find their families, or dead. Or . . .” the Commander gave him a meaningful look, “dropped out before this hell started.” _

_ Lance bit the inside of his cheek to the point he tasted blood. He remained at attention with his hands locked behind his back. When he had been summoned, he had tried to clean up a bit, managed to wash his face, but his hair was still an unruly mess and his clothes were secondhand and dirty from months of rough living on low provisions. _

_ Iverson limped across the room favoring his left leg, another injury gained from the brief war. He went to a table where a bottle of whiskey, half full, stood almost reverently next to a glass. The Commander poured a shot and threw it back with a soft gasp. Lance remained standing, his jaw clenched tightly in smoldering anger and determination. _

_ “Frankly, if it was up to me, I’d have you cleaning guns and doing trash duty until you pulled your head out of your ass, but I got orders to send our top engineer into District 88 and I can’t send him in alone.” Iverson said, giving the bottle a wistful glimpse. “It’s a two man job and he’s a pansy when it comes to violence. At least you got enough goddamn sense to pull the trigger with your eyes open. And you did well in your sharp shooting scores.” _

_ “Thank you, sir,” Lance said. _

_ “You shouldn’t be thanking me, kid,” Iverson turned him, setting the glass down on the table with a heavy thunk. “I’m sending you right into the lion’s den without backup or any extraction plan. Once you get inside that district you are on your own and if we don’t hear from you, we’ll assume you’ve been captured or killed and we’ll scrap the mission and pull out before you have a chance to reveal our location under interrogation.” _

_ “I understand, sir,” Lance said as a bead of sweat rolled down his temple. _

_ “Not yet, you do,” Iverson assured him. _

_ He came back around to the unbalanced desk which had a book under one leg to keep it leveled. They were taking up residence in an old farm thirty miles outside of District 88. It was within an isolated valley, far out of range of Galra patrols and had been their base of operations for almost a month. Scouts have been sent out to survey the perimeter of District 88 which gave them an idea of the layout of the district and patrols schedule. _

_ Iverson picked up a folder and tossed it at Lance who barely caught it. “You are to memorize everything in that folder and then hand it back. Inside are instructions on how you’ll be entering District 88 and a list of contacts we have inside. You might recognize some of the names there, old classmates, namely Sandy Topps. She has been key in gaining intel on what the aliens have been up to in the district so protect her cover at all costs.” _

_ Lance swallowed when he recognized her as the pretty cadet he had briefly dated. He had thought she left to find her family. “Yes sir, you can count on me. I won’t let you. . .” _

_ “Stop stroking your dick, Cadet. I’m not finished briefing you,” Iverson approached, towering him over him, giving him a grave look with his single eye. “I got a question for you, Cadet, and I expect you to answer it with all the honesty you can scrounge up in your delusion of grandeur.” _

_ Lance straighten his back, trying not to puff up his chest. “Yes sir?” _

_ Lance was expecting any sort of question from Iverson. Anything such as could he handle this? Was he afraid? To even if he had made his peace with God or family? _

_ He wasn’t prepared for what Iverson said. _

_ “Can you kill your friend? Hunk, as you call him.” _

_ Lance blinked, unsure if he heard correctly. “Sir?” _

_ “Can you kill Hunk?” _

_ “I don’t understand. Why would I . . .?” _

_ “Dammit, boy, think for a second,” Iverson thrust a finger into Lance’s shoulder, nearly pushing him back a step. “You’re just a grunt. You don’t know shit. The contacts inside the district don’t know anything save for how they send information, all of which can be easily dismantled or scrapped.” _

_ Iverson rapped a knuckle on the desk, possible to drill in the weight of his words or perhaps it was a nervous tick. Lance didn’t know. “Hunk is different. He knows things that can be very damaging if the aliens get their claws on him. He knows our schematics, passwords, how our equipment works because, hell, he built some of the damn things himself.” _

_ Iverson stepped back turning as he was going to head for the whiskey bottle again, but changed his mind. He went to the desk and drummed a fist on the surface again. “If the worst should happen, if you should be captured or the aliens are on to you, then you have to kill him to keep him from talking. He wouldn’t last under ten minutes of torture. He’s a builder, not a soldier. The poor kid only enlisted in Galaxy Garrison to build ships, not shoot guns, but god bless him, he has done his part for the Cause. Now if this mission goes to shit, we may have to sacrifice him for the Cause too.” _

_ With each word drilled into him, Lance felt more and more weight falling into his stomach. His mouth went dry as the gravity, the actual gravity, of the mission sunk in. _

_ “Can you kill Hunk to protect the Cause, son?” _

_ Lance had to suck on his tongue to wet his mouth to speak. “Yes sir.” _

* * *

Hunk was right there, fretting, about Keith when his own life was more in danger than he realized. Lance stared at the far wall, reading the graffiti there to take away the thoughts that were creeping through his head like poisonous vines.

I could bash his head against the wall or the corner of the bench. I could strangle him. The guards will think we got in a fight. Maybe I could break his neck so he won’t feel any pain.

“Hey, man, it’s alright,” Hunk said, the panic almost gone from his voice to be replaced with a kind reassurance. “You don’t have to cry . . .”

“I’m not crying,” Lance scrubbed at his eyes, finally noticed the moisture that threaten to fall.

“Is he crying in there?” a voice called from down the hall.

“Keith!?” Both Hunk and Lance cried out at the same time.

They both ran to the bars and leaned against them to look up and down the hall. A hand wearing a fingerless glove extended from a cell several blocks away wave at them through the bars. “Down here, guys.”

“Keith! Damn you! Have you been down there the whole time?” Lance yelled. “Listening to us?”

“Hey, it was nice to know you guys cared so much,” Keith called back.

“Oh, I’m going to show you caring, you arrogant bastard,” Lance shoved against the bars.

“What happened?” Hunk called back. “What did they want with you?”

“You know that Galra with no shirt? The white streaks on his ears? He just wanted to give me a hard time for attacking him,” Keith explained. They could see both arms crossed outside of the bars as he leaned comfortably on them. “No big deal.”

“Are you hurt?”

“A little, but nothing I can’t sleep off.”

“Jeez, Keith,” Lance griped. “You coulda said something!”

“And miss the fun of listening to you two grieving for me. No way,” Keith’s voice was full of amusement which was odd to hear from the loner.

Now that the worry over Keith was gone and fearing for their lives was suspended for the moment, a new concern gripped them. “Do you think Shiro is okay?”

There was a long silence from down the hall, broken by Hunk who wondered what they were talking about. Lance gave him a brief explanation of Shiro’s captivity and the arena. Hunk sagged against the bars, “Oh man, oh man, this is bad. Is he dead?”

“No!” Keith shouted obstinately from his cell. “He’s too strong to get killed like that.” Yet, Lance noticed that the slight waver in his voice, as if he seemed to be saying it more to comfort himself than to defend Shiro’s combat skills.

“I guess we’ll find out in the next fight . . .if we get to see it,” Lance said looking at the empty cell across from theirs. There was a nasty image drawn in colored pencil on the wall, but he rather look at it than at Hunk in that moment.

They were startled when a door suddenly swung open and a Galra stepped inside followed by a dark haired woman wearing tight jeans and a white shirt that showed off a naked navel. She swaggered inside with her hands on her trim hips, a smile beaming through lips smeared with crimson lipstick. Though it was early morning, she had a pair of shades perched on her head.

“Margery!” Hunk cried out, seeing salvation.

“These two idiots?” The Galra asked Margery who nodded.

“They may not look like much, but they’re my boy toys and they get the job done, if ya know what I mean,” she winked at the Galra.

The Galra grunted and unlocked their cell. The door swung open and both Hunk and Lance stepped out barely believing that liberation would come so easily for them. Lance felt a huge weight lift off his shoulders and for the moment, he believed if he jumped he would be airborne.

“Hey, wait, what about Keith?” Hunk said pointing down the hall.

The Galra narrowed his eyes, “The deal was for you two only.”

Margery strolled down the line of cells to Keith’s. She regarded the dark haired youth with her husky blue eyes. “Wow, ain’t he a cutie. How much for the doggie in the window?”

Keith stood back from the bars, glaring suspiciously at the woman. “Margery Kayla?”

The woman’s smile stretched wider, almost predatory. “Hey, sugar, you heard about me? You wanna bark for me, doggie?” She stepped up to the bars, pressing herself against them. In doing so, it stretched the shirt tight against her chest, revealing she wasn’t wearing a bra beneath it. Keith took another step away from the bars, keeping himself out of arm's length of her.

“How much, Izex? I’ll let ya keep the fat one.”

“Hey!” Hunk cried.

“That one isn’t for sell, Kayla,” The Galra said impatiently. 

Kayla reluctantly left Keith’s cell, but not before she blew him a kiss and a wink. She stalked down the hall after Lance and Hunk. Lance gave Keith’s cell one last look before they were swept out of lockup and out the back door into the alley behind the police station. Izex, the Galra guard, shut and locked the door behind them, but before giving them a dire warning of staying out his sight and away from  _ Bruisers _ .

It was still dark and the night air was cold. Lance shouldered his jacket and before he had a chance to offer thanks to Kayla, he heard Hunk grunt in pain and he barely turned around in time for an arm to be shoved against his windpipe, carrying him against a brick wall. Margery’s husky blue eyes flashed inches from his own and her fist thrust into his gut.

Over the sound of his heaving, he could hear her snarling into his face, “Do you know what that cost me to bail you out, shithead? 300 gac and 4 kilos of Gall powder.”

Lance managed to find his voice, “W-why . . ?”

“Because I don’t want your ‘friends’ to think I sold you guys out and come after me. It’s bad for business if people think I’m going to roll on them!” Kayla growled into his face, like the dog her eyes reminded him of. “So you two better come up with a way to pay me back or I’ll carve it out of your asses!”

With one last gut punch, she let Lance drop. He hit the pavement hard, gasping and wheezing through his mouth. Kayla turned on her heel and strutted away past a Hunk who was laying on his side clutching his crotch. After nearly five minutes of recovery time, Lance managed to haul himself up and get Hunk to his feet. They both leaned against each other as they made their way out of the alley to collect the radio to make their report to their superiors.

* * *

Thace barely slept at all for what remained of the night. He rose early, checked his messages, showered, and checked his messages again. It would take time before information of the error behind Keith’s application, but he felt himself restless, agitated, eager to know more about the defiant youth.

He hid the knife in his quarters where he kept other items he wouldn’t want anyone loyal to the Empire to see. Then he dressed and left the garrison just as the sun was making its appearance over the distant walls of the district. He found himself heading for  _ Bruisers _ , feeling that if he could get information about Keith, it would be there.

The bar was recovering from the brawl. Bruiser was inside making a list of items needing to be replace while a the blonde woman who was Izex’s favorite was sweeping up broken glass.. The tables and chairs have been moved to the whiles set in two piles, those that could be repaired or to be sold as kindling. Bruiser looked up as the door swung open and nearly dropped his pencil in shock at seeing Thace.

“Sir!” He hurried around the counter. Thace noticed the bags beneath his eyes, likely from not sleeping since the fight broke out. “I just want to say how sorry I am for what happened last night. Those kids are banned from my bar from now on. There won’t be anymore trouble here anymore, no sir!”

Thace held up a hand, silencing him, “Before you ramble on anymore, let me assure you that I did not come to order this place shut down . . .”

The man looked at him with exultation and then whipped around to the blonde. “Where’s Leslie?”

The blonde had stopped sweeping to watch the exchange. She pointed at the stairs. “She went up to clean the rooms.”

Bruiser rounded the edge of the bar, his heavy frame nearly swinging from side to side in his exertion. He paused at the foot of the stairs bellowing, “LESLIE! GET DOWN HERE, GIRL!!! PRONTO!!!

There were hurried footsteps on the floor overhead and then the dark haired woman, the one Thace had bought for an hour appeared at the head of the stairs. She looked panic stricken, likely expecting they were under attack again or the building was on fire from the way Bruiser summoned her. “Yeah, boss?”

He turned to Thace, “This is the one you were with last night, right? When you got interrupted? You can go upstairs and have her for the rest of the day, sir. She’ll treat you real good.” When Thace hesitated, Bruiser flicked his eyes to the blonde, “Or do you wanna go up with Sandy? Sandy, stop what you’re doing and . . .”

“No, no, it’s fine. I’ll go up with Leslie . . .” Thace said quickly. It would work out better this way. He could question Leslie about Keith in private without Bruiser asking questions of his own.

Bruiser wasn’t finished in buying off Thace. He orbited around the counter and grabbed a bottle off the top shelf and set it on the counter. “Here, our compliments. Folashia bourbon from System K-8-47.”

Thace accepted the bottle, surprised Bruiser was able to get such good stock in his bar this far out in the Universe. He headed for the stairs from where Leslie was looking down worried. She was chewing her lower lip, not expecting to be servicing a Galra in the morning hours.

The blonde called up, “I’ll let your Mom know you’re getting in extra hours.”

“Thanks, Sandy.”

* * *

She took him to the same room as the one they had used last night. It was cleaner now; the floor had been vacuumed and the sheets looked washed with the bed made. As she did last night, she hung a Do Not Disturb sign on the doorknob, locked it and she gave his a flirtatious smile, “What would you like me to do?”

“Just have a seat,” Thace said moving to the chair. He was tearing off the sealing plastic at the top of the bottle with his clawed index finger. “I want to talk for now.”

Leslie perched at the edge of the bed. She was still wearing the clothes from last night; braless beneath a white tank top and tight denim shorts. She bent one knee to her chest and propped her chin on it watching him with her arms draped around it. “So what do you want to talk about?”

He discarded the plastic seal on the dresser and took a long drink. The fluid flowed down his throat thickly as blood and sent a warm buzz through his senses. He took a moment to enjoy the sensation before he passed the bottle to her. She raised her brows in surprise at the generosity and accepted it.

“I want to investigate what happened last night,” he told her.

“I don’t know how much help I’ll be, sir,” she said taking a quick sniff of the bottle’s contents. “I was upstairs with you when it happened.”

“I have some questions about one of the youths involved. The one with the dark hair that frequents the bar during the games.”

“Oh, him! Yeah, we’ve all noticed him. He’s cute,” Leslie replied, taking the bottle with both hands. She took a small cautious sip and sighed as it flowed down to her stomach. After handing the bottle back, she said, “He never comes upstairs; didn’t seem to like it when one of the girls tried to get him to come up. He’s only there to watch the fights.”

“How long has he been visiting the bar?” Thace inquired.

Leslie took a moment to think. “I want to say a couple of months.”

“Do you know where he comes from?”

Leslie lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “Sorry, I don’t. He never talks to anyone, but I’ve seen him around doing repair jobs for people.” She added kindly, “I don’t think he’s a troublemaker, sir, he mostly keeps to himself.

It seemed like this was a dead end after all. The humans didn’t know anything more about the youth than he did himself. He took another drink from the bottle and set it on the dresser. The alcohol flowed through him in a coil of heat, loosening the tension he didn’t realize he had in his shoulders. He studied Leslie, noting her short hair was almost styled as the youth’s.

Allowing his inhibitions to flow away on a sea of heat and bourbon, he felt the need spreading through his thighs. He moved from the chair to the bed in a slow grace. He cupped the side of her face, his claws tangling in the dark mane hair. Leslie closed her eyes, shivering; whether from excitement or fear, he didn’t know. He kissed her, his tongue stroking her lips, his mind replaying the youth’s quick slip of tongue from the corner of his mouth. He tasted the bourbon on her tongue as it met his. He opened his mouth, brushing his sharp teeth across her lips and she shivered, this time, he knew, from arousal. She began pulling up her tank top.

“No,” he put a hand on hers, gently stopping her. “Leave it on. Take off the shorts.”

Leslie swallowed, “Like last night?”

“Yes.”

“Top drawer.”

The massage oil was still there. He prepared himself and her. She was quieter, more receptive for the penetration. Maybe she was more prepared for it now or perhaps it was the alcohol, but she received him easier this time. He rolled his hips into her body, sinking down every inch into her tight crevice, and imagined another beneath him.

The youth’s eyes glowed before him. Beautifully defiant, strong, and older than his young years should allow. The boy had endured hardship, that much Thace could see and he had been the one to deliver some of it. He remembered the stroke of his hand across the youth’s face and it pained him as the first physical contact they had wasn’t caresses or gentle touches, but violent blows.

His hips piston harder, the flesh beneath him stirred as his actions became sharper, harder, and urgent. The youth, why did he have a knife of Marmora? Where could he have gotten such a thing and why cling to a lie so? What was hidden behind those violet eyes? And what would Thace find there? 

He came hard, his hips jerking into her until he became too loose to continue. He rolled off the female, feeling that emptiness that came when he lied to his body and himself with the wrong sex. And when the female cuddled against his side, her hand stroking across his chest, did the guilt set in. She didn’t know why he sought her. It was bad enough to be used for her body, but to be used to as a placeholder for something, someone else . . . it wasn’t fair to her.

“Are you crying?” she whispered.

He jerked away from her, surprised and realized his eyes were wet. He rubbed them on the back of his wrist. “Allergies. The sand of this environment doesn’t agree with me.”

She was quiet for a moment, her breathing slowing from the pant. Dark strands of hair clung to the sweat at her temples and brow. Her fingers ran through the fur at his chest and down his stomach. “You’re not purring. Did I do something wrong?”

“No, you didn’t,” he assured her. “I have a lot on my mind.”

Maybe she feared that he would tell Bruiser she didn’t serve him well or maybe she cared more than she should have. “Do you want me to do something else? I’m pretty good with my mouth.”

“No, let’s just lay here for a while.” He stared at the ceiling thinking how much easier it would be if he had been born differently.

A friend and past lover assured him there was nothing wrong with how he was born, or what he felt for other males. It was just a difference like some Galra being born with fur and others without. Some were born with tails and others did not. It was something that couldn’t be helped, but embraced as it was a part of him. Though, sometimes Thace found himself envying other races who were open to his sexuality. He imagined what it would be not have to hide it or be ashamed. To not fear being ostracized or shunned.

He looked at the female drifting to sleep next to him. She had tucked herself beneath his arm, her head on his breast, and a bare leg draped across his thigh. She was pretty and accommodating. He should feel attracted to her beyond the similarity she had with the youth. It would be so much easier if he could lose himself in her for hours on end and be satisfied; not feel this pit in his stomach.

He had gone down this path before when he had tried to ‘cure’ himself by aggressively pursuing a female Galra. It didn’t end well for him or for the female.

* * *

He didn’t realized he had fallen asleep until the commlink pulsed at his wrist. He blinking back sleep as he raised his wrist to his eye level. It declared he had an unread message fifteen minutes old on his terminal. He sat up, disturbing Leslie who had remained at his side. Without looking at her, he grabbed his clothes and donned them. He reached into a pocket and dropped several chits on the dresser.

“Here, take this and tell Bruiser I asked for you to have the rest of the day and night off. Keep the bottle.”

Then he left, trotting down the stairs three at a time. He barely glimpse at Bruiser who was cleaning behind the bar. As he dashed out, he told Brusier he had important matters to attend to, and yes, Leslie had been very good to him and he would like for her to have time off as a reward for good service. Then he was on the street heading to his apartments in long quick strides.

His men knew what to do without orders being given on a routine day, so he had no worries about going to his quarters in mid-day. He locked the door and booted up his terminal. Again, he felt restless as he did that early morning and he felt tension building in his stomach as he saw it was about the youth’s failed application.

He scanned the information. Everything checked out save for the DNA sample. The error lay there. The sample may have been tainted or the youth may have been on a drug that interfered with the readings. He filed it away for later and read the background check sweep of the humans vast internet archives for Keith.

The first thing he read curdled his blood. Galaxy Garrison. Keith Smith had been a Cadet since foster care. He had been expelled due to disciplinary matter before the Galra invaded. Could it be possible that the arrival of an alien invasion would have drawn the youth back to military?

“Shit,” Thace whispered under his breath. “He could be with the rebels after all.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be a short flashback and then we'll see what's going on with Shiro and Bridget.
> 
> Comments or Kudos is much appreciated. 
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr through RebelCourtesan muse blog.


	11. Bridget

_ I don’t have to hide myself when I’m with him. I don’t have to keep a smile on my face to pretend I enjoy his company. As soon as I enter his apartment, I can feel the weight of the mask slipping away. I can walk in and be fatigued, angry, crying, or even horny and none of it mattered to him. _

_ I’m not speaking of Shiro. Though I could let the mask slip with him just a bit, but I feared what he would do if he knew too much. _

_ The door had barely hissed shut behind me when I let myself go. The mask came off along with my gown. I let it fall on the floor, along with the jewelry, the lingerie, and underwear. I needed to be bare, to feel cool air on my skin for a moment before I claimed him. I encircle my arms around his waist and press my cheek to his torso. His flesh quivers beneath the leathery material of his bodysuit and it stoked my lust for him, making me desperately need him. _

_ “Where?” _

_ “The bed,” I said, as I undid the hidden seals that held his upper bodysuit in place. His flesh was smooth, tougher than a human’s, but free of fur, almost erotic under my hands that had become so accustomed to fur and thick hide. _

_ I loved his apartment. Not only for the windows that presented a wonderful view of open space, but for his bed. It wasn’t Galra design, but round with a slight dip in the middle. I couldn’t remember the name of the race that designed it, but I knew it was an avian people that nested. The bed encouraged closeness of multiple sleepers and in this case, lovers. _

_ The top of his body suit fell at the waist. I was already ready and he was nearly there himself. He fell back on the bed, putting gravity in my favor of getting his pants open. I guided him inside and he filled me up, creating a satisfying bump inside as he reached the very depths of my sex. My body had become accustomed to the anatomical differences between Galra and human men. What had started out painful and uncomfortable became natural for me to receive. _

_ I rocked my hips, adjusting myself at a comfortable angle we both liked and then gyrated them in smooth, practiced motions. I took pleasure not just in my body, but in his. He grasped my thighs with large, graceful hands, never pricking me with his claws nor bruising the skin. Other Galra weren’t so considerate; I still bore the marks from an eager patron last cycle. I watch his head tilt against the pillow, his white lips parted giving me a peek of his sharp incisors.  _

_ His breathing intensified and he anchored me to him for his frantic thrusts. I held onto his arms, biting my lip as heat coiled and unraveled in my body like wrestling snakes. Then a hot explosion filled me, followed shortly by an orgasm that swept through my nervous system, pulsing through my limbs like a hot wire. Then I lowered myself onto him, laying my ear against his chest and listening to his heavy breathing. His hands rested on my back and my body rising and falling with his deep breaths. _

_ “Was it as good for you as it was for me?” I asked him jovially. _

_ “Perhaps next time, you’ll allow me greet you to my quarters first.” _

_ “I thought this was the greeting.” _

_ I slide up his body, pressing my breasts against his chest, bringing my face close to his. I kissed him, curling my arms around his chest. We stayed like that for several heartbeats before he rolled onto his side, laying me on my front. He examined the marks on my back, that stretched from my shoulders down to my hips. They were all in different states of healing, from the fresh marks from last cycle to the ones that were nearly gone. _

_ “I’ll get some Fast Heal for these,” he said as he rose. _

_ As much as I wanted him stay with me, I understood the prudence of his tending to me. It was the reason I was allowed to see him as he was a sort of private doctor for me and his job was to make sure I was fit to continue serving patrons.  It was also his role to make sure my skin was healed of any marks so the next patron could leave his own. _

_ I watched him leave through the doorway to the bathroom where he kept medical supplies. I was disappointed he had pulled his pants up before departing as I would have enjoyed the sight of his bare ass in motion. Rolling onto my back, I sighed, enjoying the silky sheets on my skin and the air cooling the sweat on my face. On a whim, I dipped a hand between my thighs and felt the slippery substance clinging to my sex. My fingertips came back with sticky cum with a purplish tint. _

_ I would be pregnant a hundred times over if it wasn’t for the birth control implant in my arm. All the Courtesans of species compatible with Galra had them. Each was chemically tailored to their bio-chemistry to prevent unwanted pregnancy. And I was truly grateful as I had learned the hard way how compatible humans and Galra were. _

* * *

I huddled in the corner of my cell, not wanting to stay on the bed as it was too close to the door for my comfort. It was dark save for a dim light glowing from the center of the ceiling just allowing me to see that my body still carried the bruises of Commander Prorok’s “affections”.

The thin pants and sleeveless top offered very little warmth or protection. I curled in a ball with my knees at my chest and arms wrapped around my shins. Even my toes were curled in an effort for my body to contract in upon itself. With my face pressed to my knees, I tried to remember what had happened when I was taken from the cell on Prorok’s command ship.

I remember being in so much pain that I could barely focus on what was happening. It came in bits and pieces, like an incomplete video. I had been lifted onto a stretcher and there had been a shower and I was screaming at someone.  Takor might have been there.   

Thinking of him now brought a bubble of anger to the surface. Cursing foully and digging my nails into my legs, imagining I was clawing out his eyes. The anger was doused when I heard the magnetic seals of the doors releasing and I rose to my feet, pressing against the wall.

The light from outside flashed through the opening slit in the door momentarily blinding me. I held out a hand to shield my eyes from it and could see the large frame of a Galra blocking the light outside framing his head and shoulders. He nearly filled the doorway like a gate. A frighten sound rippled through my throat. What nightmares were they going to put me through next?

My eyes quickly adjusted and I recognized him as the Galra with the white face, the one who spoke to me during my gynecological exam. I still didn’t relax my guard, waiting to twist away if he should reach for me. He stepped inside and the doors sealed behind him, blotting out the light, trapping me inside with him as I was with Prorok back on his ship.

Cringing, I yelled, “Go away!”

“Do you understand me?”

I blinked.  He spoke an alien language fluently and I understood every word.  I have been able to pick up on things while listening to foreign languages, but this was instant, as if I knew it better than I knew my own native language.  

I nodded.

“Speak to me then.”

“I understand.”

“No, in Basic.”

I paused not certain I understood. “I don’t . . .”

“Repeat my words and you will understand.”

I did so. Slowly, repeating what he said and as each word rolled off my tongue, the rest of it came into my head. Pronunciations, syllables, and phonetics opened up in my mind like a book, cataloging dictionary of words and sentence structures.  The words unfurled like a long blanket, pouring out more and more words into my head and out of my mouth.

I said other words. Small preschool words such as ball, cat, dog, bag, clock, and then moved onto harder words such as television, shingles, damnation, salvation, etc. They all came to me as easily as English. I even listened to myself recite the Lord’s Prayer.

“Are you done playing?”  His voice was cold, inciteful.  He stared at me as if I was some interesting specimen that just performed a new trick.   

I suddenly remembered there was a Galra standing there with me. I nodded, again bracing myself for what he was going to do to me. He motioned at the cot, “Do you want to sit?”

I shook my head.

“Alright,” he said, not taking offense at my refusal. He sat down on the cot himself, his large body folding down onto it. He was no longer blocking the door, but I doubted it would be left unlocked. His white face almost glowed in the dim light and his amber eyes stared impassively at me. “Did you know you were pregnant when you were brought to the Zenana?”

“I wasn’t pregnant . . .”

“You miscarried on the way, it was Commander Prorok’s child.”

I stared stunned, unable to register his words. Then a terrifying memory came of my final moments with him and severe abdominal pains that made me faint. I had been pregnant . . . with that bastard’s seed. Revulsion crawled through my body like poison.  

“It’s gone . . .I’m no longer pregnant, right?”

“The fetus is dead, but it’s still inside you. Dr. Brin is going to remove it. I’m telling you now so you don’t fight us like last time.”

“Does Prorok know?” I asked, feeling a familiar bubble of hate rising through my belly.

“Commander Prorok,” he corrected me displeased. “You will refer to officers by their titles and with respect. Yes, Dr. Brin sent him a communications about it shortly after it was discovered.”

“When will it be taken out?”

“They’re prepping for the procedure now.”

I was relieved, but then I was apprehensive. After they removed it, then what? “What happens after?”

He wouldn’t answer me. Moving from the cot to the door, he pressed his hand to the panel there (I noticed this room was meant to be opened from outside). “If you struggle or try to run, I will put shackles on you. Do not give me cause to do so.”

I went with him. I shivered when he took my arm, his large hand enclosing the limb from elbow to shoulder, and led me to the operating room.

* * *

_ I wore one of his undershirts with the collar tied in a knot on the shoulder to it from slipping. He stood at the stove laying pieces of poultry on a grill and then sprinkle a pinch of spices over the sizzling meat. It still amazed me to see a man cooking who wasn’t a chef like my old boss, Angelo Ricci, who ran the Italian restaurant I had worked for. My father never had time to cook meals, always busy working and going to church so our housekeeper would prepare a meals for us and taught me how to cook when I was old enough and I took over the meals in our house until I moved to college. Devin could cook some on a grill or skillet, but nothing like what Ulaz could produce. _

_ “How did you learn to cook?” I asked from my perch at the counter. My bare feet dangled far from the floor, flashing back to when I was a child watching our housekeeper cook a meal with my homework assignments spread before me on the counter.  Those times were many life times ago when I was young and protected by my father and an alien invasion was just entertaining imaginings science fiction books and tv shows.   _

_ “Through trial and error,” he told me. “During my years in the Imperial Academy I was dissatisfied with the cafeteria food and decided to try my hand at preparing my own meals. I bribed a cook to grant me use of the kitchen during my free time and I smuggled the ingredients in myself.” _

_ “You weren’t given a hard time about it from your classmates?” _

_ “At first, but I was the one eating freshly cooked food while they had stale bread and dried meat. We soon came to an arrangement. I received credits or copied assignments in exchange for a delectable cooked meal.” _

_ “What’s a Galra military school like?” I asked, suddenly curious. _

_ “Strict,” he said, “There is little room for error and the instructors expected you to get it right the first time or you got a fist in the face or a rod across your back.” _

_ “There was this teacher, a Sister Teresa, who would lecture while walking up and down between the desks with a ruler,” I told him, remembering those innocent years when I was a child. I wanted to connect with him.  “If she caught you whispering, passing notes, or even if your book was on the wrong page, she’d smack your palms with that ruler.” _

_ “Was this the college you speak of or the one you attended as a child?” he asked curiously. _

_ “The private school when I was young,” I said, then I became curious. “Did your parents send you to military school or did you enlist on your own?” _

_ Galra military schools were opened to all applicants; the Empire needed a huge military force to maintain their borders and swallow up new territories. Most Galra parents enlist their children shortly after they’re born and they are sent off to academies when they come of age. However, the problem lie in staying in the school, as competition was fierce and instructors were quick to weed out those they deem as weak or didn’t have the correct ideology. Everyone wanted to serve as being in the military opened doors to privileges and benefits that no other job could offer and all wanted to serve Emperor Zarkon. _

_ Ulaz was quiet for several moments before answering, “I never knew my father and my mother never intended for me to enlist nor did I.  I was drafted as an orphan.” _

_ He must have sensed my surprise. With all his skills, I’d assumed he had come from an educated family and he had inherited his skills from talented parents.  I stayed silent, hoping he would tell me more. _

_ “I never knew my father so I cannot be certain if he was full blooded Galra or not,” Ulaz said as he laid strips of meat on a plate. “My mother had always been sickly, barely able to work to keep a roof over our heads.  She couldn’t afford a doctor nor medicine.  One day, she went to sleep and never woke up.” _

_ “Oh no,” I said feeling pity welling up. I never knew my mother, she having died when I was very young. I had no memory of her save for the stories my father told me and the pictures of her on the walls of his house.  She was a memory I couldn’t remember, a sort of token that everyone could feel and touch, but was beyond my reach. _

_ “The landlord had me thrown out to make room for new tenants who could pay and having no other family, I lived on the streets until they purged the colony.” He reached into cupboard for two plates and glasses. He continued to speak as he took the cooked meat from the grill and placed them the plates. “They rounded up all the people they deemed as worthless; the homeless, the drug addicted, the sick, and the orphaned and sent them off planet to work camps or other places to become productive members of the Empire.” _

_ “Dear Lord,” I whispered shocked. “They just gathered all those people up . . .?” _

_ “It happens more often than you would realize. Some of your fellow Courtesans are where they are because of similar purges,” he said gravely, “The Emperor sees weakness as a cancer that should be cut out before it has time to spread. Those that can’t keep up are left behind and those who can’t work starve. In my case, since I was a Galra youngling, I was sent off to a military school to serve my Emperor as a soldier.” _

_ “It must have been hard to have no family even in school,” I said as he set a dinner plate in front of me. The aroma of the spiced meat made my stomach growl, but I waited for him. _

_ “All Galra soldiers start at the bottom despite their background and work their way to the top. I shared a classroom and training hall with the children of Commanders and Admirals. Even children who could trace their lineage to Zarkon were among my classmates.” _

_ “How did you join the . . .um, other school?” _

_ He was quiet as he fetched a pitcher of brewed tea from the fridge and poured two glasses. He set my glass next to my plate and stared pensively at his as he set it down. “I unknowingly had a cousin who had been raised within the order. He helped me sort out the conflicting feelings I had towards an Empire who stamped on the weak and poor to benefit the strong and elite. An Empire who allowed a sickly woman to die without medicine that could have saved her life and her young son to be cast out into the streets wasn’t an Empire I wanted to serve.” _

_ I touched his hand, my fingertips drawing across his knuckles. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.” _

_ “You were hoping for a happier story to take your mind off your own?” He asked with a playful quirk of his eyebrow. “Most of the order, those who haven’t been raised within it, but later joined, have similar stories. A soldier who was forced to kill his own brother to prove his loyalty, a medic who was punished for aiding refugees, a lieutenant at odds with being ordered to decimate an entire village on the suspicion of harboring insurgents are just a few stories within the order.” _

_ I picked up my glass and looked at the chestnut colored liquid. It had a flavorful taste that I enjoyed. I noticed that after I told him I liked this tea, he served it with every meal. “What’s the Empire’s story? Why is it the way it is?” _

_ He was thoughtfully silent before he began, “The early years of the Empire is highly debated unto this day.  Most of is known is conjecture.  The Galra home planet, Daizabaal, was destroyed so much information was lost or distorted back then.  Some of the missing pieces of information was filled in with outright lies and propaganda, but I will tell what we believe to be true and backed by credible sources.”       _

_ “Before the Empire as you know it came about, King Zarkon worked with the leaders of other kingdoms and planets to bring peace to what was known of the Universe.  He often led them into battle with fights that couldn’t be resolved by diplomacy.  Among them was King Alfor, the King of Altea, and he was Zarkon’s closest confidante and friend.”  Ulaz took a long drink of his tea.  I waited patiently, chewing my food and watching him expectantly.  I knew he was telling me things that some in the Empire would prefer a slave to not know.   _

_ “Now this is where information is fragmentary at best.  Some say that Zarkon’s people discovered a new power source that could run ships for many many years without having to be refueled, cure disease, and even grant immortality,” he paused when he noted my raised eyebrows.  The Emperor was over 10,000 years old, since the beginning of the Empire.  The implication stayed in the air between us as he continued, “Other stories say that monsters and otherworldly creatures started attacking Daizabaal, a comet that struck the planet brought a plague, that Zarkon was seduced by a witch, and just so many different version, but what they all agree upon one thing . . .” _

_ Again, he paused taking another long drink.  I daresay, he was probably wishing he has some wine or something stronger than tea, but he had to return to work soon.  Then he said a word I recognized, but didn’t understand.  “Voltron.” _

_ I heard it spoken in hush voices between Galra when they though I wasn’t listening or believed I wouldn’t understand.  At first, I believed it was a taboo group through the Galra and then believed it was some sort of religious icon.   _

_ “Some say that it came to them in a comet that impacted Daizabaal, others day that King Alfor and his alchemists built in an jointed effort with Zarkon’s people.  But Voltron was a guardian that brought order to the Universe.  Never before had there been such a widespread era of peace for all planets and races, but it wasn’t to last.”    _

_ This part I knew from listening to Galra.  Daizabaal was destroyed by Alteans and in retaliation, the Emperor destroyed Altea, making its people a dead race of legend and tales.  Many times I have been told I looked like an Altean and the serving girls would dress me as one to please a patron. They would cap the tops of my ears with pieces of jewelry that resembled elf ears and paint green lines on my face to match the facial markings Alteans were born with. _

_ “But weren’t the Alteans a peaceful people?” I said, thinking deeply about it. “I thought they were the diplomats, scientists, and philosophers of the Universe back then.  Why would they destroy a inhabited planet?” _

_ Again, Ulaz gave me one of his pensive looks. “I’m not sure.  That’s where a lot if history has been lost.  Archives, libraries, and the planet wide info net was destroyed and whatever historical information remained was what the populace took with them.  The Galra changed that day, became militant under Zarkon’s rule and went to war with Altea and its allies.  And you know how that story ended.” _

_ “What about Voltron?” I asked, feeling a bit mesmerized as if I was a child hearing a tale from the feet of her grandmother.   _

_ “No one knows.  Many believe it was destroyed to keep it out of Zarkon’s hands.  Others say it was separated into five parts and hidden, waiting for to be made whole again to rid the Universe of Zarkon’s evil.” _

_ For the moment, he sounded like inner jacket summary of a high fantasy novel, but then a lot had happened that changed my perspective.  We finished our meal together and I washed the dishes while he ready for his shift.  I listened to him dressing in the next room and thought of Devin.   _

_ He kept his work clothes in a drawer and just pulled out a wad of his jeans and shirt, not caring if they were wrinkle or not.  Whenever I complained, he said that it didn’t matter whether they were starched or wrinkle free because they were just going to get soiled and filthy by the end of the work day.   _

_ “Some of the blokes have gotten to callin’ me Mr. Clean’s son on account of me showing up to work in such clean clothes.” _

_ I told him that I couldn’t help it.  Blame the doctrine of my upbringing that one shalt not go out wearing unwashed clothes.   _

_ He laughed at me then, but he never went to work in dirty clothes and he dutifully placed them in the hamper for me to throw in the washer the following morning.  Just as I asked him to.     _

* * *

“Stop fidgeting with those before I have them wired to your head,” Madame Flo’s voice was a low growl which didn’t fit the serene expression she carried as she led me down the grand hall.

I lowered my hand from the golden jewelry that capped the edge of my ear. It extended outward in a long point giving the impression I had pointed elven ears. Though the metal was light, it still felt odd and weighty and I keep expecting them to droop. My hair was arranged in a long braid with loose strands in the front to cover my actual ears and give the golden tips a copper curtain to peek through. My gown resembled something from a medieval cosplay convention with soft felt slippers that made no noise unlike the loud taps taps of Madame Flo’s heels on the metal floor.

During our walk to the upper levels, she drilled into my head previous lessons, her hand tightening around her fan as if eager to smack me with it if I should give one wrong answer. The more nervous Madame became, the more vicious her threats. The shuttle ride to Central Command wasn’t fun as she criticized every action I made from sitting, to scratching my nose, to even breathing too loud.

“So help me, if you dare spill anything, I’ll take the skin off your back,” Madame Flo said as kindly as a blessing. “And you do know how to pour a drink, correct?”

“At a 45 degree angle.”

“Do you know what a 45 degree angle is?”

“Yes, Madame.” I demonstrated with an invisible bottle.

I barely dropped my hand in time before she took a swing at it with her fan. “Put your hand down. I don’t want anyone thinking you are performing rude gestures in the halls.”

Forcing myself to keep my face neutral and not to show my annoyance at her. I had just earned my way from the lower levels of Zenana, where anyone who wanted you could have you.  In the upper levels, you were reserved for patrons only, guests who paid extra money to elevate courtesans they liked.  For my new status, I was given a spacious room with my own shower and the privilege of leaving the R&R station to visit patrons, my own terminal to view streamed entertainment, and be allowed to send messages (heavily monitored) to my patrons.  But my favorite reward of all was my own reading tablet for which I can have books translated into english and I instantly created my own personal library of books from Earth.   

Before Madame Flo could quiz me on more rules of etiquette, the double doors at the end of the long hall parted and two robed figures stepped, no, flowed through. Their robes billowed as they moved, giving the impression of black ink drifting through water. They each wore masks similar to the bird like masks worn by physicians during the Black Death plague in the middle ages. Their arms were unnaturally long, even for Galra.

Madame Flo halted so abruptly, I nearly walked past her. Her face was frozen in such horror, I wondered if we should start fleeing from the robed beings. She whispered so low, I barely heard her say, “The Druids,  _ He’s _ coming!”

I had heard of the Druids during my time in Zenana. They were always spoken of in low whispers and there were countless stories of how the Druids could see into a Galra’s soul and draw out treasonous thoughts like poison from a wound. How they wore masks to hide their faceless heads, or they were really otherworldly abominations and that see them unmasked was to lose one’s sanity, and how they were actually extensions of their leader, High Priestess Haggar, wicked soul.

Then I realized, it wasn’t the Druids that frighten Madame Flo, it was what was coming behind them that was nearly sending her into panic convulsions. I noticed that others sharing the hall were moving to the sides and kneeling and bowing low. Madame Flo moved, seizing me by the shoulder and pulled me down with her, nearly shoving me to the floor.

“Kneel, damn you,” she hissed at me. “Keep your face down and if you dare to move one muscle, one finger, even if your hair blows out of place, I’ll kill you afterwards.”

She nearly flatten in her haste to have me kneeling correctly. I managed to get my hands beneath me and adjust my knees into the correct position. During my training, she had be repeatedly kneel over and over until my legs burn and sweat dripped off my face so I knew the position by heart, but I was still trembling. Seeing Madame Flo so worried disturbed me, as I thought of her as woman with no fear, who answered to no one, but then I realized of whom she could be speaking of.

Emperor Zarkon, the God King of the Galra Empire. The Lord of the Known Universe.  The Eternal Ruler.  

“Don’t breathe too loud, in fact, don’t breathe at all. Hold your breath.” Madame Flo’s words were distant, as if she was speaking to me from a deep, deep tunnel.

I could hear the pounding of my heart and slow breathing as the drum of heavy booted feet grew louder and louder. I could feel His footsteps through my palms flat on the floor. I lifted my eyes and saw the edges of the Druids’ dark robes flow by like wounded birds trying to take flight.

I swallowed, taking a slow breath to ease my pounding heart, but defiant anger was building inside me with a streak of rebellion. Why shouldn’t I look at the Emperor? After everything that has been done to me since I first heard His name, I had the right to see Him.  I felt the chill crawling over my skin as the heavy foots came so close and I felt the air stir by the movement of the dark cape. As if my head was pulled by strings, I raised my face.

I was Lot’s wife who dared to look upon the destruction of Sodom and like Lot’s wife, I was frozen like a pillar of salt.

Galra was collectively a tall race, but He was very tall by their standards. His movement was that of an oncoming tsunami, lava flowing from the lip of a volcano, the dark clouds of an approaching hurricane; might, strength, and fluid motion filled with the promise of desolation and ruin in His wake. I was ill prepared to see the draconian face looking straight at me!

**_My body belongs to the Empire. My body serves the Empire. Vrepit Sa._ **

It was only a passing glance, just a quick look at something curious as He walked by. Not even a full turn of the head, just a shifting of His eyes.  Yet, so much happened in that one second. I realized then what it was to be helpless. I had been raped, molested, beaten, indoctrinated, and objectified. With all of it, I had struggled, I had screamed, I had fought, though useless, I had resisted! In that moment, I knew I was nothing. He could kill me right then. Put His foot on my head and crush it beneath His heel and I wouldn’t resist. I would say or do any nothing against it because it was His decision and I had no place to protest or argue for my right to live. I had looked into the face of a god and it had looked back.

**_My body belongs to the Empire. My body serves the Empire. Vrepit Sa._ **

And what was worse, is that He knew of what I had just learned. I cannot explain how, even unto this day, I still can’t. He was aware of what I was thinking and it pleased Him, satisfied Him. I was an animal that just learned a new trick.

**_My body belongs to the Empire. My body serves the Empire. Vrepit Sa._ **

And just like that, I was forgotten when He resumed his attention to where he was going. There were voices that solemnly whispered Vrepit Sa at his approach and others who stayed silent like we did.

Then He was gone, like a terrible storm that leaves behind its aftermath. Doors opened and closed and the tension and silence in the air dissipated. Some whispered among themselves, delighted by the chance to share the same space as the Lord Himself. I didn’t move until Madame Flo pulled me up and even then I couldn’t or say anything, I was shaking so much. She took my by the arm and led me down the hall through the doors the Emperor had emerged and took me into a private alcove.

I expected her to start beating me with her fan for disobeying her and I wouldn’t have blamed her if she did. Instead she took a cloth from her sleeve and pushed it into my hand. “Dry your eyes.”

I swallowed, noticing the wetness that threaten to spill down my cheeks. I dabbed at my eyes, aware I was ruining my eye makeup, but that was the last thing on my mind at the moment. I kept waiting for her to berate me or hit me, but she silently watched me and took the cloth back when I finished.

“Are you calm now?” she asked me.

I nodded slowly, but unsure if I could call the fright I was still feeling as calm.

“Seeing the Lord can be a bit overwhelming,” she said almost so kindly, I wasn’t sure if this was truly Madame Floentha next to me. “We’ll take a moment to calm down a bit more, shall we?”

This was too strange. Was this an act to trick me into quiet submission before she dealt me a dire blow? I bit my lower lip and pointed out, “I looked at Him.”

“I know, you did and usually I would be taking your head off for it, but not right now.”

“Why?”

“Because He looked back, dear. The Emperor actually looked at one of my Courtesans and that is worthy of my forgiveness, is it not?”

I held my breath to keep from snorting. More like He was curious of why there was an Altean in the hall when He supposedly killed them all long ago. Then a horrifying thought came over me. “Does He . . .become a patron?”

Madame Flo lay a hand over her breast as if she could swoon. “The Emperor? A patron? No! The only women He touches are his Consorts.”

“Consorts?”

Since my eyes looked dry, she took a compact from her sleeve (I wondered what all she kept up her sleeves) and flicked it open with a tip of her claw. “The Consorts are women who bear His children. He very rarely takes a Consort anymore.”  She began reapplying my eye makeup, smoothing the smudges and cleaning away the streaked stains. 

Once she was contented with her work, she snapped the compact closed and motioned for me to follow her. As we drew near the residential levels for the higher ranking officers, I felt warmth sliding down my spine as my collar released a mild euphoric into my bloodstream. The fear I still felt from beholding Zarkon was being pushed down under the tide of the drug. I felt relaxed, calmer, better, and almost eager for what was to come next.

* * *

_ I don’t know if half of what I feel or think is the drugs or me. I’ve become so accustomed to them, to everything, I barely recognize myself from before the invasion. To think, my biggest worry back then had been my father not accepting my marriage to Devin, but now it seemed so trivial. I have been a victim of the cruelties of the Galra Empire that it’s hard to think of what my earlier life had felt like.  I look back at that woman and I see her as a separate person, or an image of a child hood photo.  I know its me and I can recognize my features in the small round face, but it still feels alien and remote. _

_ I’ve become eroded like a rock in a river with all the edges smooth down into an oval stone. I find my comfort in Ulaz and now Shiro. But only Ulaz truly knows how deep the cracks run in my visage. I let Shiro believe I’m well adjusted, but I’m not. The drugs are what keep me together, not all of it is self-control. _

_ Unlike Shiro, who dreams of returning home because he has someone named Keith to return to and has remained unchanged save for the physical scars and cybernetic hand. Me? The person I was had been murdered by Galra. If I should go home, I would go home a stranger to the people who loved that old me. _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter turned out longer than I anticipated. The next chapter, we'll be back to see what's going on with Shiro what happened during the fight with Migo.
> 
> Comments or Kudos is much appreciated. 
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr through RebelCourtesan muse blog.


	12. Shiro, Bridget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will we get back to see what Pidge is up to. Oh, and Haxus makes an appearance too.

One thing Shiro found surprising about spending two years in the slave pits and surviving fight after fight in the arena was that he managed to keep all his teeth. Some of have been knocked loose and healed back into place and thus far he had come without even chipping a teeth.  However, right now, if Takor kept punching him in the mouth, he might soon be losing a few.

Grasping Shiro’s prison chest garb, Takor hauled him up for another blow to the face. Shiro’s head was thrown to the left, spitting blood on the floor. He rolled a tongue against the teeth and, yes, a couple of them were coming loose. The blood dripped off his chin, staining the front of the garb. He was hauled upward again, nearly off his knees. Takor’s lips pulled back from his teeth in a vicious snarl and the edge of his lip was still slightly bleeding from where Shiro had head butted him earlier when he tried to fight back, but being in a cramp cell with both hands shackled from behind when his opponent had free range of movement hadn’t given him much of a chance.

“I want to know what you’ve been talking about with her,” Takor growled into his face, his other hand grasping Shiro by the hair and tilted his head.

Shiro swallowed back the blood in his mouth, if only to keep himself from spitting it in Takor’s face. “We don’t exactly talk much . . .if you know what I mean.”

As distasteful as he found it, he didn’t want Takor to believe there was something going on beyond the carnal intentions of their visits. Shiro thought back to all the plans they had made and the maps drawn in alien coffee to be carefully wiped away.  He would never see Bridget again and he would be thrown back into the stagnanting cycle of his cell and the arena if Takor should believe what he suspected to be true. 

He was jerked up and fist in this gut doubled him over. The blood he had swallowed just seconds ago made a reappearance on the floor, barely missing Takor’s boot. Again, his head was tilted back so hard, some hair was pulled from the root.

“Let me make this very simple,” Takor said heatedly. “Though she may not appreciate it, Bridget has it good in Zenana, better than most slaves of the Empire could ever hope for as you should know. She doesn’t need you filling her head with foolish ideas.”

A chill went down Shiro’s spine. He knew that Takor was perceptive, from the suspicious glanced he was given after each visit, but this was striking too close to home. He tighten his jaw, trying think of how to respond. Takor wouldn’t believe him even if he denied it. “What makes you think that?”

“Your eyes.” Takor brought his face close enough to kiss him, mismatched eyes glowed into his. “I’ve been watching your matches for a while. You were dead inside, living from match to match, killing and winning as if that was all that mattered, but then you see her, you meet her, and then you caught a disease called hope.”

God, just how perceptive is he? Shiro clenched his hands behind his back and gave Takor a smirk. “It’s called getting laid. It’s been a while for me since I’m not into aliens and screwing her makes life worth living again. You jealous of me? Or her?”

That earned him another blow across the jaw. His vision swam before him and nausea threaten to gag him. Then his head was wrenched back again. Takor’s breath blew in his face again as he spoke.

“The next time the guards come to take you to her, you tell them you’re bored with her, or ask for another Courtesan, I don’t care which. You’re not seeing her again.”

“Wow,” Shiro laughed through red stained teeth. “Is this some high school drama? Lemme guess the roles. Bridget is the hot girl in school, you’re the asshole jock, and I guess I’m playing the dweeb who’s after your girl?”

“You think this a joke?” Takor smacked his head into the wall again.

Shiro hissed through gritted teeth, his head spinning from the blow. He let the anger at the injustice of his captivity rise to the surface, “Do you think this is the first time I’ve been worked over like this? You’re going to have to try a lot harder to scare me!”

Later, he would realize how foolish he had been for baiting Takor.  

Once, twice, three times a large purple fist struck across his face, then he was seized by the shoulders lifted up for a knee to impact his midriff. He fell on the floor, curled up, croaking as he struggled to relearn to breathe. Then his ribs were kicked twice causing him to twist on the floor like a worm. Just as he thought he was going to pass out, Takor hauled him up by the shoulder into a sitting position and slammed his back into the wall. 

Kneeling over him, he pinned Shiro’s head against the wall by the throat. He reached into his boot and drew out a small dark object which he flicked. A small blade flipped out, catching the light and glinting menacingly. Shiro froze, taking a sudden intake of air through his nose. His eyes followed it as Takor pressed it against his cheek, just beneath his eye at the end of his scar.

“Such luck this wasn’t one inch higher, huh, Champion,” Takor muttered. “Do you think losing an eye might put you at a disadvantage against Migo?”

Shiro clenched his jaw, refusing to allow Takor to see his fear, nor was he willing to back down. Provoking him more wouldn’t help, but maybe talking him down might.  _ Might _ . “You must care a great deal about her to go this far.”

Takor quirked an eyebrow, but didn’t ease any pressure off the knife. “I’ve taken care of her since Earth.”

“You met her on Earth?” She did say she and Takor had a history, but did it really extend that far back on Earth?

“Oh, she didn’t tell you about that? Like I’m some dirty little secret, eh?” Takor teased, tapping his cheek with the point of the knife. “We go all the way back to Limerick, Ireland,” Then Takor studied Shiro critically with derision. “I think I now know why she likes you so much. You remind her of him, her shit for brains husband.”

Shiro blinked, so surprised he forgot the knife in his face. “She’s married?”

“Was,” Takor offhandedly corrected before it clicked. “Wait! She didn’t tell you about him? You didn’t know about her husband, Devin Walsh? What about her baby?”

Shiro stared at Takor nonpluss. Bridget had a child? Had a husband? Why didn’t she tell him? 

Takor laughed snidely at his stunned expression. “Oh, she’s already working a number on you, isn’t she?  Soft and sweet as long as she wants something from you.” He drew the knife away from Shiro’s face and gave him an almost camaraderie pat on the shoulder.

Shiro shook his head, leveling his eyes on Takor’s mismatch eyes. “Forgive me if I don’t believe anything you say.”

Takor shrugged, rising to his feet, folding the knife, and slipping it into a pocket. “Oh, this is funny. I’m actually looking forward to the next time you see her. I wonder if she’ll be all smiles after that visit.”

There was a knocking on the door and a frantic voice called, “Takor, your time is up.”

Takor sighed deeply regretting their meeting ending so soon. “If you survive the match, ask her, Champion, ask her about what happened to her husband. He’s her first victim after all.”

Shiro pushed himself against the wall, using it as support to rise to his feet. “You know, the more you talk about her, the more you sound like the jilted lover.”

Takor froze at the doorway just as it was opening. Then as quick as lightning and as lethal as a snake strike, he kicked Shiro’s knee at an odd angle with all his might. Shiro felt the ligaments tear and the bone nearly fracture. He yelled, collapsing on the floor and hot agony spread throughout the leg.

“Just had to press your luck?” Takor growled vehemently. “Let’s see what the last word costs you in the arena.”

Takor sauntered out and the doors closed behind him. Shiro rolled onto his back, mashing his hands into the floor. He gingerly tested the knee and cringed as pain lanced through his limb. Yes, there was definite damage there. It didn’t seem broken, but it would give him a severe handicap in the match.

Painfully, Shiro took in account all his injuries. His ribs feel like they have been cracked, there were superficial lacerations along with the bruising on his face.  He didn’t seem to have a concussion though he was sporting a pretty nasty headache.   At least Takor didn’t make good on his threat of blinding him. 

He didn’t waste time kidding himself into thinking they would cancel the match in favor of his injuries. No, they would carry him out there if they had to. He had seen prisoners who could barely move being tossed into the arena to lay helpless until they were given the coupe de grade by an opponent.

The only thing he could do right now is rest and conserve his energy because he was going to need all his strength for the fight.

* * *

Bridget starred questioningly at the serving girl in the mirror. The dressing room was small with the floor mostly consisting of cushions and the walls lined with mirrors. Bridget was propped on several pillows before a dais covered with a selection of hair clips, jewelry, and makeup and paints. A four arm alien, an unilu, was braiding her hair artfully with three of her hands while the fourth held a hair clasp in waiting. The unilu was a pretty young girl with blue hair braided in elaborate cornrows with bracelets clicking as her hands moved deftly.

She glanced around cautiously, then raising her eyes to Bridget’s reflection and gave a slight nod. Bridget made a motion of scratching her knee and slid her hand beneath the wrapper where a credit chit had been tucked in the seams. With a tug, she freed it and slipped it beneath a cushion near the unilu’s leg. She returned her hand to clasp the other on her knees and waited, her eyes pointedly looking away. The unilu waited nearly five minutes until she came to the end of the braid and while three hands tied off the end with a small cord and covered it with the hair clasp, the free fourth hand darted beneath the cushion so fast Bridget wasn’t certain if she did it or not.

When the unilu finished her hair, she moved around to the makeup collection. Bridget felt under the cushion and found a folded piece of paper. She curled it into her palm and held onto it while her makeup was applied and she was dressed. 

Her face was powdered a soft blue tint with dark eyeshadow. Her eyes were rimmed with black paint forming a feathered tip at the outer corners. The lips were painted a soft peach color. The dress was a light teal color with the skirt split at the knees with a long trail at her ankles. The long sleeves ended in a triangular point at her middle finger. The neck dipped down in a V between her breasts. 

The mirrors were set so one could be viewed at every angle.  Bridget regarded her multiplied visage and thought to herself,  _ I look like some alien noble from a cheap sci-fi flick.   _ It wasn’t her taste in clothing, but it suited her patron’s.  Any opinion she had about fashion was treated as empty as air.   

Bridget tucked the paper in the fold of fabric at her shoulder. The unilu handled the dresses had stitched hidden pockets as it aided her business of selling the courtesans  _ somnum _ , a sleeping powder. Every courtesan has their least favorite patron. Sometimes it was because he was boring, violent, or just too annoying to endure for long without losing face, so to end the encounter sooner,  _ somnum  _ could be slipped into his drink to encourage him to go into an early slumber.

It wasn’t that Bridget’s upcoming visit was with a patron she disliked, but she wanted to focus on the fight and she feared her patron would be more interested in sex than violence. Thankfully, this particular patron enjoyed the fights so she likely didn’t have anything to worry about, but wanted the  _ somnum  _ just in case.

Once the unilu finished decorating her with jewelry and spraying a pheromone enriched perfume on her neck, chest, and thighs, she was taken into a side room where Madame Floentha waited to do a final inspection. She always looked courtesans over before allowing them to leave Zenana as they were examples of the services provided by the station.  She stared at Bridget critically from the top of her hair braided with black and gold ribbon weaved through the plait down to the sandal shoes that laced part way up the leg.

“She looks beautiful, Laila,” Madame Floentha said. It wasn’t a compliment, it was a statement that Bridget passed the standard.

The unilu smiled and bowed with all four hands folded at her waist. “Thank you, Madame.”

“Bridget, your escort is outside. Do be nice to this one.”

Bridget looked quizzically at the Madame, “Takor isn’t escorting me?”

“No, he requested time off for personal reasons,” then Madame Floentha narrowed her eyes in admonishment. “Don’t get too excited. He’ll be back by the time you visit your next patron.”

As much as it pleased her not to have to deal with Takor on this already nerve wracking day, it was also disconcerting. Takor was like clock work on escort duty, almost possessively as if he couldn’t stand for another guard to be around her. She shoved it aside, taking it as a good sign that today will be alright.

The guard temporarily assigned to her seemed bored. He was a bit shorter than Takor with a thin and sharper face structure. She noticed that he didn’t have the usual straight back military stance she seen most Galra carry. In fact, he would be slouching if it wasn’t for the stiff armor keeping him upright. His eyes seemed to wander over the room, with only a passing glance at her. Bridget caught herself staring at him, but not before he noticed with irritation.

“Yeah, they’re blue.” He rolled the blue orbs in his head. They were a deep cerulean blue that was very much out of place in a purple Galra’s face. He pulled the bottom eyelid down of one eye as if he was making a face at her and explained, “Blame my Kora’as grandmother’s genetics for these.”

Feeling that she should say something to smooth things over, she said, “I think they’re very nice.”

He snorted dismissively and motion for her to follow.

* * *

The doors opened and Bunto chirruped in his usual jubilant greeting before a fight. “Rise and shine, Champ! You got a - what the hell happened to you!?”

Shiro opened his eyes, shocked at himself for sleeping with a possible concussion. He attempted to move, but his injured knee refused to worked. He forced it and yelped in agony. It had swollen to nearly twice its size and pain was moving up and down his leg as hot as electricity.

Bunto was looking frantic from his face to the knee, nearly running back and forth the length of the cell. “What happened? Who messed ya up like this!?”

Shiro groaned as he forced himself into a sitting position, “Undo the shackles, Bunto.”

“I can’t! You got a match! Like right now!”

“Bunto, focus, calm down and listen! You need to run to medbay and get me the strongest painkiller they got and a knee brace if you can get one.”

“They aren’t going to give me those!” Bunto wailed, wringing his hands.

“Then steal them if you have to!” Shiro snapped as the sentries, pressed for time, stepped in to grab him. He cried out when forced to put weight on the knee and would have collapsed if they hadn’t gripped his shoulders so tightly. Through the haze of pain, he forced himself to focus and said through gritted teeth, “Bunto, if I die, then you’re back to square one: hosing out prison cells! If you want me to have a chance out there, then get me what I need!”

Bunto looked at Shiro then at his knee and then back to Shiro again. Then his furry brows narrowed in determination and he flew out of the cell like rabbit. The sentries hauled Shiro out of the cell uncaring of his groans of pain.

* * *

Bridget was agitated. She wasn’t sure why, but she couldn’t relax. Thankfully, her patron, Lord Trizak, took it as excitement for the match. She leaned against his side, listening avidly about the private games he held in the system he governed. He had thin, angular features with darker fur framing a lavender face. The hair between his ears was slicked back along the scalp. He reminded her of how vampires were portrayed in old black and white horror films.

“They tracked that bastard down across three worlds before they finally cornered him,” Lord Trizak said looking with anticipation at the arena.  He was talking about Migo now.  

The seats were beginning to fill with spectators while overhead huge holo-vids played through ads and propaganda footage of campaigns the Empire was engaged. Bridget noticed that most of the spectators were Galra this time as the Emperor was going to make an appearance. Everyone wanted to get a glimpse of the Emperor, even if He was just a red speck in the distance.  They would tell stories of it to their friends and family for many years and those stories would be told to children and grandchildren.  Your great grand-father’s cousin’s best friend’s sister once saw the Emperor in person from across the arena.  He was drinking wine or scratching His nose.  

She asked, “How did they catch up to Migo?”

“Oh, he made the mistake of victimizing citizens on Parce.” Trizak took a casual sip of wine.

Bridget ran through her memory of Galra controlled planets. “Isn’t Parce a Galra planet?” Meaning that it was mostly populated by Galra with aliens living on the outskirts of their major cities.

“Yes,” he smiled at her as if she had performed a new trick. “He killed three citizens of the Empire, but he was no match for our Imperial Law Keepers.”

Bridget lowered her eyes and drank more wine. She now knew the reason Migo was caught in the first place. He had killed Galra citizens and that had been what drawn the attention of the Law Keepers. If he had stuck to non-Galra victims, then he would still be out there taking ears for his collection. Bridget wondered how many serial killers, rapists, and deviants were running free unchecked because they were wise enough to steer clear of Galra victims, at least the ones that warranted protection of the Law Keepers.

As much as she dislike it, she looked towards the Emperor’s box. If the Emperor was going to be present for the games, then they would not start until He arrived, even if the matches were delayed. He still hadn’t arrived yet, or perhaps He changed His mind to attend to a more pressing matter of ruling the Empire.

Lord Trazik paid a fortune to reserve a box close to the Emperor and it wasn’t her first time sitting in such prestigious seats.  Sometimes there was a huge announcement He was going to attend a match and Galra would flock to the arena, reserving tickets for the honor of sitting close to their Emperor.  The battle royale Shiro had came out victorious had been in his honor.  There were other times when He simply show up in the middle of the match and the audience would stand and salute the red figure stalking approaching the throne.  

 

She didn’t like seeing the Emperor.  Thankfully, protocol dictated that while her patrons stood straight and saluted, she must kneel, thus keeping her from having to stare at the hateful shape that sent cold nails down her spine.

Soon, the expansive doors behind the throne open and a buzzing hush fell over the massive audience as the holo-vids cut their feeds and the violent symbol of the Empire filled their screens and the Galra anthem began drumming echoed across the arena.  Bridget hastily scooted off the couch and knelt on the floor, artfully spreading her skirt out behind her.  Lord Trazik carelessly stood on her skirt as he saluted his Emperor reverently whispering Vrepit Sa.  

As soon as the Emperor was seated with two attendants standing behind him, He motion for the games to begin.

* * *

Bunto showed up just as Shiro was being carried into the antechamber of the arena. Beyond the door was a hum of an excited crowd, eager for blood. The trip had been painful as every jolt sent pain shooting up to his hip. They took no notice, not even slowing their step when he dragged his feet and bore his weight easily.  

Bunto scurried to Shiro with a hypodermic gun in one hand and a brace in the other.  “It wasn’t easy! I had to do a snatch and run! Hadn’t done one of those since I was cub!” Bunto rambled as he dropped the brace to prep the hypodermic gun. Then he angrily sputtered at the sentries, “Set ‘im down, will ya!”

“The match is beginning in 30 ticks,” the sentry drone at Shiro’s right stated dispassionately.

“This will take three ticks, ya nuts and bolts!” Bunto exclaimed just as he shoved the hypo against Shiro’s leg, just above his wounded knee.

Shiro moaned as boiling pain spread through his knee, but then it ebbed away in waves until it was lowered from agony to a tolerable pain level. He tested his knee and found he couldn’t put much weight on it, but at least he could stand.

“Bunto, put the brace on, quick,” Shiro said.

“Oh, yeah!” Bunto grabbed the brace and wrapped it around Shiro’s knee.

The brace looked as if it was made of a gel. It was several sizes too big for Shiro’s knee as if it was meant for a bigger species. However, once the Bunto had it around his knee, he pressed a slight indentation at the side and it began tightening until it fitted him perfectly, allowing him to put a bit more weight on it.

“Looking good, Champ!”  Bunto said giving Shiro a cheery smile as if they had both dodged a bullet.

Shiro didn’t share his optimism.  He could move easier now and the pain was tolerable, but he was still lame and chances were he was possibly damaging his knee permanently by using it so soon after being injured. He wouldn’t have the freedom he needed to dodge and parry attacks nor get the momentum he needed to deliver devastating blows.  And the pain killer wouldn’t last forever.  If he was going to survive this fight, he was going to have end it as soon as possible.

A sentry handed him a sword and Shiro limped onto the field.

* * *

The holo-vids stopped boasting the Imperial emblem and began showcasing images of Migo and Shiro. The lights dimmed and the music cut off to be replaced by an announcer declaring the start of the first match. Both Bridget and Lord Trizak moved to the floor to ceiling window. She took his arm on the way, never forgetting the role that had been drilled into her upon her arrival in Zenana.

Migo made his ugly appearance with much fanfare, brandishing a wicked club and a serrated knife. It may be a knife in his hand, but Bridget, it might as well be a machete.  Despite herself, she began to worry for Shiro. She knew he had come across such monsters during his time in the games, even viewed those matches in this very arena, but each time was no better than the last. Eventually, everyone’s luck runs out and make a costly mistake. Her other hand tighten on the railing in a white knuckle grip and sent a small prayer for God to be with Shiro.

Then the arena door opened and Shiro came into view. Her heart leapt into her throat at the sight of him. Why was he limping? The camera closed in on his face and revealing his face bruised and bloody with swelling around his mouth.

“What happened to him!?” Bridget cried, unable to hide her reaction.

“He may have gotten in a fight with another prisoner or acted out against the guards,” Trizak offered nonchalantly. “It happens sometimes.”  He spoke in a tone to indicate that Bridget should known this well.  

“But not to Shiro! He doesn’t . . . he doesn’t do things like that,” she forced herself to calm down. “He’s a well behaved prisoner.”

“Then he may have angered somebody who saw he deserved a beating,” Trizak said offhandedly. “Here I was hoping for a good fight, but it seems that the Champion’s winning streak ends this time.”

Bridget put both hands on the rail, her heart pounding frantically. The fight was starting.

* * *

Shiro went on the defensive, trying to put distance between himself and Migo, who instantly took notice of Shiro’s handicap and was more than happy to take advantage of his lack of mobility. The one thing in Shiro’s favor was that Migo was slow, clumsy, and maneuvering around obstacles threw off his swing. He was able to dodge them, but it was galling; if he had both working knees, he could easily dispatch this slow ugly brute with a straight cut into one of his obvious openings.

The crowd was crowing its blood lust, impatient by lack of it. Others were shouting for Migo to finish him off or for Shiro to show some bearing and strike back. From the back of his mind, he wondered if Bridget was watching now and how worried she must be. Then his thoughts turned to Keith and he was glad that he couldn’t possibly be watching this.

He noticed the growing throbbing in his knee that gradually began to burn. It could mean that the painkillers were being burned out of his system by the pumping adrenaline or the knee was gradually getting worse. He had to end this fast before he was unable to stand. Backpedaling, he put his back against the wall.

There, he could stand and fight on his feet, but he would be pinned if this didn’t go his way. Migo was on him, club waving in the air like a banner and then it fell. Shiro’s sword blocked it in a shower of sparks. Then he blocked the next hit easily. Now he just needed a reachable opening, a stab through the heart or throat would end this.

But Migo had enough brain cells to know not to give him that chance. In fact, Migo decided to try something that borderline strategy. He swung at Shiro’s knee. From using the wall as support and dealing with Migo in close quarters, Shiro forgot his injured knee and ducked the swing only to crumble in agony as pain shot up to his hip. Then the agony moved from his knee to his hand when Migo brought the club down across his true arm.

Shiro screamed as he felt bones crushing and skin splitting. The crowd roared in his ears like buzzing flies. When the club lifted, he rolled away with all his might. He closed his watering eyes to keep the grit from getting in them. They opened in time to see the club swinging down again. Shiro twisted to the right and protected his unharmed knee and forced himself up only to get caught in the chest. The blow lifted him up into an arc which was cut off when he hid the wall. The back of his head hit the surface with a resounding crack and everything went dark.

* * *

Bridget covered her mouth and moaned through her fingers. There were was a red stain on the wall that painted a line to where Shiro lay limp.

_ Dear God, please don’t let him be dead. God, please, please, don’t let him die like this. _

Lord Trizak made a disgusted noise in throat. “I expected better from the Champion.”

“It’s not his fault,” Bridget said defensively, forgetting herself. “Someone crippled him before the fight! You can’t expect him to . . .”

“Yes, I can,” Lord Trizak snapped severely. “Injuries are a weakness to overcome and those who can’t overcome them deserve what’s coming to them.” Then he added warningly, “I don’t like your tone, Courtesan.”

Bridget narrowed her eyes. “I’m sorry, my Lord. I will try to keep my concerns for a friend to myself . . .”

He slapped her.  She would have fallen if she hadn’t caught herself on the rail. She raised her head stunned, her cheek glowing pink.

Trizak said ominously. “I’m going to allow you to watch your ‘friend’ be slaughtered then you’ll ‘apologize’ for your rudeness.”

Tears welled up in her eyes. “Yes, my Lord.”

* * *

When Shiro opened his eyes his vision swam, the light overhead spinning like a kaleidoscope of shapes. For several frightening seconds, he couldn’t remember what had happened. Then a roar filled his ears and a dark shadow covered the light. A crescent smile split the dark face and an echoing voice cried out.

_ “It looks like Migo the Ear Collector is going to claim the Champion’s ear for his sash!” _

Shiro felt a tug at his ear and that was all he needed to remember. His hand curled around a handful of dirt and he flung it in Migo’s face just as the bastard was leaning down to filet his ear from his head. The brute roared, grit entered his eyes. Shiro rolled, pulling his ear free, much to the glee of the crowd.

_ “Hold on! The Champion is up! The Champion is up!” _

Not quite, Shiro thought to himself. He could barely get himself into a kneeling position. Damn. One leg out and now his arm was different shades of purple and black. It was bent at an odd angle and he couldn’t feel or move the fingers.

Migo was uttering foul oaths in his language and he was groping for the club he had set aside to do his bloody work. He only had one chance. His sword was too far for him to grab. The club would be too heavy to wield with one hand, even if it was a cybernetic hand.

No, he realized, he didn’t need a weapon for this.

Shiro lunged, wrapping the cybernetic arm around Migo’s throat and pulled back with all his might, the heel of his good leg digging a rut in the earth. Migo’s strangled roar and the crowd’s cheer and applause made his ears ring. Blunt fingers scrabbled at the arm doing very little damage to the metal. Shiro ducked his head into Migo’s scratchy and smelly mane to protect his face from questing fingers. Then Migo rose, lifting Shiro with him, the smaller man’s feet dangling, but he held on.

Migo flung backwards against the wall with Shiro taking the brunt of the impact. Each time, the air was forced from his lungs and he felt his ribs, earlier kicked by Takor, cracking and then breaking. He clutched his arm across Migo’s neck, refusing to relinquish despite his injuries. The Ear Collector’s eyes were going red from lack of air to his brain, but he was able to recollect something. His knife.

Shiro grunted as a serrated blade penetrated his side, tearing flesh and organs as it went in and doing more damage as it was yanked out in a spray of blood. Then again, the tip glancing off his ribs, barely missing his lung. The third time, it hit something vital. Shiro spat blood into Migo’s mane, his vision going blurry. Now he wasn’t just holding on to kill Migo, but to keep himself from falling.

The blade found its mark several more times much to the spectator’s delight. It was all Shiro could hear over the thrumming in his ears. Blood was seeping down his side, staining his bodysuit, and dripping off the toes of his shoes to form a red puddling on the ground at Migo’s feet.

There was vertigo when Migo finally fell, finally succumbing to asphyxiation. When they both fell, blood splattered the ground around them. Shiro finally released his arm. It creaked, the metal slightly bent from the effort. He touched his metal hand to his side and it came back crimson. He could feel the blood leaving his body and he felt colder and colder. He always knew that his life would end in this arena and it was easier than he thought, dying that is.

* * *

Bridget’s eyes were fixed on Shiro who was moving slightly beside the mountain that had been Migo. He was still alive, but barely.

“When are they going to send help?” Her hands were sweaty on the railing.

Lord Trizak was sitting on the couch looking bored again now that the fight was over. He did become intrigue when Shiro managed to come out victorious despite his setbacks, but now he was eager to move onto others things. “Come here.”

Bridget stayed where she was. “When are they going to send him help? He’ll bleed to death!”

“So what?” Trizak snapped. “Have you ever seen a medic out in the arena? If he bleeds to death they’ll call it a draw and move onto the next match.”

“But he won, he killed Migo!” Bridget pointed at Migo’s giant mound of a corpse.

“And what if he did? You only win if you are the one who walks off the field. Come here, I said.”

Bridget still didn’t move from the rail. She watched several sentries crossed the field to Shiro and the corpse. Three of them began towing the corpse towards an open doorway and one sentry took Shiro by the legs and began dragging him to the same doorway. His body left a red streak in the dirt and his limp arms trail in the dirt. They weren’t taking him to the medics, they were just clearing him off the field.

Bridget was so aghast she screamed, “They can’t drag him like that! Dear God, they are going to kill him!”

From the corner of her eye, she saw movement and she realized she had overstepped herself again. She didn’t have time to back away or to protect herself. Trizak grabbed her shoulder and delt several slaps across her face. When he released her, Bridget was leaning against the rail, gasping through tears and trembling.

“I wouldn’t have my orders disobeyed by my own men, much less from an uppity bitch,” he said viciously. “You are going to shut your mouth about the damn Champion and make up your bad behavior. You can start by pouring me a drink and undressing.”

While being assaulted, the strap of her dress slipped off her shoulder. Bridget carefully slid it back onto her shoulder, her thumb touching the tiny envelope of  _ somnum  _ powder. “Yes,my Lord.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments or Kudos is much appreciated. 
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr through RebelCourtesan muse blog.


	13. Katie, Haxus, Thace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here ya go, here's the chapter I had taken down earlier. Finished and with more scenes. Enjoy! Before to comment and leave a kudos to let me know what you think.

Tonight was as good a night as any night, Katie decided. After the fiasco at Bruisers, the Galra were in uglier moods than ever before. They stalked the streets in patrols glaring at pedestrians, sometimes stopping someone to give them a hard time by questioning where they were going and why. The guard at the check point inspected their bags as if he considered spitting in them.

Thankfully, Sammi had overcome her fear or she would be in hysterics by the way they glare at anything that touches their shadow. However, Katie noticed that Sammi had been quieter than usual these days, more withdrawn. She wouldn’t meet people’s eyes when she spoke to them and often made bathroom trips to get away from them.

Once Katie felt the time was right, she collected together everything she believed she would need. The facility didn’t allow workers to bring in any bags, but they didn’t do body scans or searches. She duck tape her tools to her body beneath loose clothing. A pen flashlight, a multi-tool knife, an old smartphone she ramped up with solid computing power she pieced together from materials in her father’s work station, and her switchblade. Hopefully, she won’t have any need of it, but she would be foolish to leave it behind.

She wasn’t kidding herself that this would be a piece of cake. More than once she had a close call while gathering data. Sometimes a Galra would come into the break area for a quick smoke and she hide herself in their rather large cabinets and once she got locked outside while hijacking their satellite feed. So many things could go wrong if she wasn’t careful or unlucky.

As she was checking herself in the mirror to make sure that none of her tools made any impression in her clothes, there was a delicate knock at her door.

“Katie, may I come in?” It was her mother, Colleen Holt.

“Uh, sure, just a sec!” Katie gave herself one more check in the mirror before hurrying across to the door. She did another cursory check to make sure her room was clean. Like her brother and father, she had a habit of having gizmos strewn everywhere. It had been her neat and tidy mother’s bane to have a family of tech whizzes with a chaotic sense of organization.

She opened the door and let her mother inside. Ever since the Kerberos mission, her mother’s appearance had taken on an older, tired visage. When Dad and Matt were around she was always busy with an energetic spirit in her step; whether it was cooking dinner, grading papers from work, driving Katie back and forth to school, and going to Matt’s demonstrations at the Academy, she walks walked briskly to and fro, never stopping until her errands were finished. Colleen Holt loved being a mother, running a household, and being an educator, but now the household was nearly empty with only memories of her lost husband and son, and her job as a teacher was now obsolete. Losing her son and husband was a tragedy, but an alien invasion had wrought its own stresses on her life. Her soft blonde hair now had sad streaks of gray at the temples and there were age lines beneath her eyes that hadn’t been there two years ago.

Her mother had a somber look in her eyes when she came into Katie’s bedroom. Already, Katie knew something was up before Colleen said, “We need to talk, Katie.”

“What’s wrong?” Katie glanced at the clock and saw she had some time before her shift. As agitated as she was about her mission tonight, seeing her mother like this worried her more.

Colleen shut the door behind her in an old habit of when she had to give news she knew her children wouldn’t like and a shouting match could ensue. She sat on the corner of Katie’s bed and folded her hands on her knees. Katie couldn’t help but noticed that her mother’s hands had more wrinkles now. “I’ve been speaking with my sister in Kansas City. Do you remember her? I don’t think you saw her since you were little.”

“I think I remember,” Katie said, feeling her suspicions rise.

Colleen nodded before continuing, “I’ve been speaking with her through the extranet.”

“Oh Mom, that must have cost so much!”

Humans were allowed to use the extranet to communicate, however the fees were steep and they were heavily monitored and strictly timed. 150 gac could cover a ten minute call outside of their district. Katie wondered how her mother thought they could afford it. They were barely making ends meet as it is.

“It did,” her mother admitted, “but it was important. Your aunt and her family are living in a small house, but they have enough room for us.”

Katie stared, not sure she understood, “You want to visit them?”

Colleen took a slow breath, “No, I want us to live with them.”

“You want us to move?”

Colleen nodded. “They say the Galra aren’t so strict there. They’re even allowed to own cars.”

Katie continued staring, still unable to believe what she was hearing. “Mom, the Galra won’t just let you pick up and move from district to district. You have to pay fees and then they have to approve it after a background check. Once they know about Samuel and Matt . . .”

Colleen closed her eyes in a pained moment as she did whenever her husband and son were mentioned. When she opened them, she said calmly, “That’s true. However, I went to the Resource Office and told them about my situation and they saw that I have a teaching degree in history. They can provide us free passes if I pass a seminar on the Empire’s history and I’ll teaching again in Kansas City.”

Katie connected the dots and didn’t like the image they presented. She spoke evenly, her eyes burning, “You want to move us to Kansas City so you can teach kids Galra history and how to be good Imperial citizens? About how they are bringing order to a chaotic galaxy in the name of their Holy Moly Emperor, while they are the ones killing people and destroying planets! You said they were no better than Colonials who forced Native Americans off their land. What happened to respecting history for both the ugly and the good parts?”

Colleen grimaced, but maintained a firm gaze at her daughter. “It’s not that simple anymore and we don’t have a choice. We’re going to lose the house by the end of the month.”

Katie’s jaw dropped, unable to comprehend. “What!? Why!?”

“Why do you think?” Her mother said a bit impatiently, looking more tired than before. “We don’t have enough money for the taxes.”

“But the money I bring in from the factory . . .”

“It helped get us this far, but they’ve raised the taxes.”

Katie moaned; it was further retaliation for what happened in the bar. Now because of whatever those idiots did have cost them their home. “We can move into an apartment in the work district . . .”

“No,” her mother said severely. “I’m not moving anywhere close to those aliens.”

Katie snorted, “You’ll teach their history to the kids, but you don’t wanna live with them?”

“Do not take that tone with me!” Colleen snapped, glaring at her daughter. “The Galra are dangerous! Isn’t the girl you work with raped by one because she was careless?”

Katie bristled, “What happened isn’t her fault and how do you know about that?”

“People talk, Katie,” Colleen took on a softer tone with some remorse, “and people can be very unkind. Honey, as much as I hate losing the house, I really want to get you away from here. People are saying there are rebels in the area and because of the bar fight, the Galra are already angry. I don’t want us here if this district becomes a combat zone.”

Katie looked away, unable to meet her mother’s eyes. “Mom, I really don’t want to leave.”

“Katie,” her mother said firmly. “I know it’ll be an adjustment, but . . .”

“I can stay here and get an apartment. I can easily afford it if it’s just me.”

“Stop!” Colleen held out a hand to halt that line of thought. “We are going to Kansas City and that is final!” She used the tone of voice that told Katie there would be no more argument. It was the same tone she used with Katie after hours of arguing about going to summer camp when she was ten.

“Mom,” Katie replied, hating for what was about to say. “I’m not going. You can go if you want, but I’m staying. I know you’re my mother, but you can’t make me go. Before you say that since I’m underage and that I can’t live alone, let me point out that there is no more child welfare services to force me to go with you. I hate to sound this way, but there it is.”

A knife could cut through the silence. Katie could feel Colleen’s hot glare on her and she couldn’t bear to look back. As painful as it was to do this, Katie couldn’t leave District 88 because she was so close on discovering where Matt and Dad were. Of course, she couldn’t tell any of this to Mom because if she knew . . .well, it didn’t bear thinking about.

“Alright,” her mother’s voice was clip and laced with pain. “If that’s how it is, then I won’t interfere. I’ll go to Kansas City alone, though I do hope you’ll change your mind before then.” Colleen stalked to the door and stopped in the hall. “Since you’re grown up enough to take care of yourself, I won’t waste time making dinner or breakfast for you anymore.”

The door closed with a gentle click and Katie felt like a jerk.

* * *

Haxus felt like an idiot for volunteering to head this investigation. He was getting nowhere and just when he thought he might have a lead it turns out to be just a bar room brawl started by a few human youths. It was disgraceful for Galra troops to behave like uncouth primitives and it was unfortunate that a demoted officer, Thace, was the one overseeing the disciplinary matters. If it was him he would have all participants flogged with demerits and the humans executed.

_ Bruisers  _ had been an unlimited headache for him from the moment he began the investigation into the missing Galra. All three frequented the bar, but the problem was that all the soldiers in the area went to the bar almost on a nightly basis, as if it was part of their routine duties! And the bartender did not offered any leads, and the whores weren’t much help either.

The bartender, a fat squat of a mammal actually had the gall to say, “Sorry, sir, but you guys all look the same t’ me.”

One of the whores actually tried to come onto him! And, on top of that awkward situation, she had the audacity to be offended when he brushed her away. The little harlot actually tossed her blonde hair and walked away with her snout like nose in the air. If he wasn’t trying to make a scene, he would have shown her her place right then and there and had that bar burned to the ground. It’s places like these that distract the soldiers from their duty to the Empire.

He needed to concentrate and try to find the link he’s missing. Three months ago, three Galra soldiers had gone missing. The disappearances were marked days apart based on the duty rosters. The Empire military was no stranger to desertion, but this case was odd for two reasons. Firstly, since Earth was an isolated planet the only places that had space stations or access to starships were the governments that had been dismantled and disbanded after the war. So the only access to starships were Galra controlled ports and who came and went were monitored. Secondly, it was possible the soldiers left together to take control of their own little corner of the planet as had happened before with traitors forming their own fiefdoms, but searches have turned up nothing, no trace of their having left District 88. And usually when soldiers deserted, they took their belongings with them. Their footlockers and quarters were still full of unclaimed items such as trophies from other campaigns and nick knacks from home. They had left their quarters to enjoy their off duty hours and never came back.

When Haxus volunteered, he thought it would be a simple case of finding wayward soldiers to bring back for court martial or to the firing squad, but after weeks with no leads or clues, it was beginning to look like there was more to this than he had first imagined.

Not that it was unknown for soldiers to go missing, especially in potential hot zones when insurgents were involved, but usually shortly after kidnapping a soldier there were chatter in the rebel communications, attacks or actions taken against the Empire, and sometimes demands were made for the prisoners, but there was nothing from the rebels, just the usual movement and guerrilla warfare on supply ships and outposts.

None of the soldiers were ever part of the same squad despite sharing previous campaigns. Their squad members, upon questioning, stated other than passing acquaintances, none of the three ever spoke nor had any rapport with the others. The only connection between them was they had all frequented Bruisers and that lead led nowhere.

His attendant set a cup of brewed coffee on the table, well away from the field tablets and papers stretched before him lest an unforeseen spill cause devastation to Haxu’s work. The attendant was a head and shoulders shorter than Haxus with a rich royal purple fur and a slightly upturned nose dabbed in the middle of a round face. Vix had a rounder body compared to most of his combat trained compatriots, but he had his uses that Haxus found very beneficial. He could scrounge up information about someone who would rather have said information remain unknown. Whether it was through gossip, snooping, or outright breaking and entering, Vix could always come up with some sort of tidbit of information that shone a light on whatever Haxus was investigating or give him an edge over his peers.

Haxus accepted the coffee and waited with amber eyes on the attendant. Vix busied himself with arranging the tablets into neat, organized stacks and spoke in a twang accent he inherited from his home world. “ _ Bruisers _ is a popular location. Even some of the lieutenants frequent it, especially Lieutenant Thace of late. They even say that Thace has taken up with a native doxy that works there.”

Haxus cringed, revolted. What did the Galra assigned here see in the females of this planet? They had no fur, no claws, had blunt teeth, and small of stature. The Galra was a conquering people who sought out challenges whether it should be in battle or carnal lust. Give him a warrior Razare matriarch he can break to his will and he would be satisfied, not these females who would willingly roll onto their backs with their legs open.

“The only thing that tells me is he has low tastes,” Haxus wrinkled his nose as he tasted the coffee. It was brewed stronger than he would have liked, but it kept him awake and alert. “Anything else?”

“I found a connection, though its tenuous at best,” Vix said slowly. He took a handheld computer from his belt and with a few swipes and taps on small interface sent the information to Haxus’s terminal. “I had to pull up old records of their duty rosters since they came to Earth, but I noticed they all had been assigned guard duty at the munitions factory, but never at the same time.”

Haxus brought up both rosters with the posts highlighted for him. He tapped a claw tip on the desktop in thought. It was a weak link, but he had exhausted all his other leads so it was worth checking out, if only to rule it out. Yet, it was possible this could illuminate another lead for him to follow.

* * *

Each time, Thace questioned Keith, the youth would tell him the same story. He had the knife since he was a child. He wouldn’t change his story one iota, not even when Thace offered to set him free with no strings attached if he told the truth.

Exasperated, the youth clanged his shackles on the table, “Maybe it crash landed in a meteorite? Maybe some guy took the metal and made a knife out of it. I didn’t steal it, okay!”

“You do not find this metal in asteroids or comets,” Thace explained for what he was certain was the hundredth time. “This metal can only be found on a planet that has long since been destroyed. The metal can only be crafted by a people that has long since died off, taking the secret of their metal working with them.”

Yet, Keith still stuck to his story, never backing down, never showing any doubt or fear in his beautiful violet eyes. Thace found himself admiring the youth, not only for his beauty, but for the relentless strength and determination that echoed in the set of his shoulders and the eyes that never looked away from his.

He hadn’t shared the information that Keith might be linked to rebels with Izex or any of the ranking officers nor did he worry about being caught. It wasn’t uncommon for an officer to head their own investigation to gain favor with superiors. If it was discovered and he was approached over it, he could say that he wanted to gather more evidence before presenting possibly false information and wasting the Empire’s time on a nonproductive investigation.

He slid a tablet across the table to Keith. “You were a Cadet in Galaxy Garrison, were you not?”

Keith lowered his eyes to the image of himself wearing a cadet uniform. The only reaction was the quick movement of the throat when Keith swallowed. Anyone who had been a member of groups link to the military had been arrested or executed.

“It looks like me,” Keith said evenly.

Thace quirked an eyebrow. So he was going to play that weak card? “You enlisted at age 14 and were at the Academy until you were expelled two years ago due to dishonorable behavior.”

Keith’s shoulders rose and fell in a shrug.

“You were a good student. Top of your class in hand to hand combat, piloting, and survival,” Thace recited the information he had poured over the night before. “You had such potential as a warrior. Why did you squander it?” He honestly wanted to know.

Violet eyes darken and the lips pressed tight. He eyed Thace suspiciously and weighed his options. He went with a bit of the truth, “Some asshat ran his damn mouth is what happened.”

Thace clicked a claw tip on the tabletop. There was a story behind that, he was sure, but prying only made Keith more defensive, “Let’s move on. What did you do when you left the Academy?”

Keith glowered. Just as Thace was expecting more offhanded rudeness, Keith said, “I lived alone for a while and moved north. I was hired as a ranch hand.”

“How long did you work there?”

“What does it matter?”

“I’m asking. That’s why it matters.”

“A year,” Keith said. “The family moved away during the invasion,” he gave Thace a challenging look and continued, “I holed up in a shack and waited out the invasion,” again, another pointed look. “Then I needed money, I came here to work, blow off steam in a bar, but two idiots got me arrested and here I am today, the end. Do you want some warm milk to go with your bedtime story?”

“Galaxy Garrison never contacted you once after our upcoming arrival was announced?” Thace inquired, choosing not to be baited.

“Why would they? They kicked me out,” Keith replied leaning back in his chair, his hands tossed up as much as the shackles would allow. “And now they’re gone. Your people saw to that.”

“That’s enough for today,” Thace said rising from his seat, seeing that he would get nowhere today.

“Wait,” Keith said, leaning forward suddenly. “When am I getting my knife back? And when are you going to let me go?”

“Never and when I say you can,” Thace said over his shoulder as he departed to summon a guard to take Keith back to his cell.

The more he pushed, the more the youth withdrew behind his wall of indifference, defiance, and anger. This wasn’t just stubbornness of youth, but armor that had been crafted steadily over a course of years of bitter disappointments and fending for himself. Thace knew that armor well as he had to wear it himself for many years.

* * *

Like the rest of the factory workers, Katie took the bus which trundled along an old dirt road, throwing up clouds of dust and grit. The facility was set in the middle of field and had been assembled by the Galra and worked by drones for the first year of the occupation. When the drones were reassigned to other duties, humans were brought in to work for scant pay.

Employee IDs were required to enter the bus and the workers wedged themselves on the old cramp bus.  Katie sat between two men who were dozing, catching a few more winks of sleep before their overnight shift.  She had a sense of comeuppance for being squished between the two smelly men on her mother’s behalf.  She forced down the guilt over what she said to her mother and focused on the job ahead. What she had to do was very dangerous and so much could go very wrong if she wasn’t careful.

At the front doors was a security scanner that all humans must go through. Like at the airport, metal such as change, pens, and wallets with metal clips were placed in a tray and passed around the scanner for the human to collect after stepping through. Katie drew slow breaths to calm the pulse in her throat. She had to time this just right.

Once the man ahead of her had finished being scanned, the Galra turned to her with a bored sleepy expression. “You know the drill.”

Katie sifted through her pockets for her house keys, some loose change, and a ballpoint retractable pen which she clicked before dropping into the tray. She paused, hoping the Galra wouldn’t take long in moving the pen with the tiny sensor scrambler tucked inside with the ink tube and spring. Just as he moved it to the other side of the scanner, she stepped through. The scanner didn’t flash red.

She retrieved her items and hurried inside through double doors onto the factory floor. They began taking up stations along an assembly line and Katie found hers near the center of the line. Power tools on metal arms connected to a power base overhead hung down like the broken arms of marionettes. Katie pulled down a screw driver tool and picked up a cover from a stack and waited for the line to power up.

Katie had memorized the plants layout and knew where the soldier’s break area was by heart, but getting to the second floor still wouldn’t be easy. Sentries were posted at the stairways and doors, keeping workers from restricted areas. The schematics yielded a ventilation shaft that was conveniently accessible from the restroom where humans could go unsupervised. It would involve her climbing up a narrow shaft with no handholds, but she could manage it. It was how she cut gym class to play video games in the computer lab at school.

* * *

Haxus still wasn’t pleased. There were no clues to be found here at all. They swap the guard out so often that the lazy oaf they have managing the facility couldn’t remember them. There were no incidences nor have they done anything to leave a mark or memory. And there were no lockers or belongings left behind for him to rifle through. Coming here had been a waste of time.

The oafish manager stammered with globs of sweat staining the fur at the temples as he scampered at Haxus’ heels, taken by surprise with a visit from an investigator, likely nervous that some of his under the table work might be discovered. He was short for a Galra, hideously reminding Haxus of Morvok. He kept snorting and scratching his stubby nose. Whenever he talked animatedly, his too large ears would flop. Haxus tried not to stare at them, wondering why he didn’t just have them cropped like any self respected military Galra would.

“Our production numbers have increased past the quota. Just threaten the humans with a hot rod and they work like little kreets in a hive,” the manager simpered, wringing his hands and taking another sniff. Haxus noticed that the edges of his amber eyes were bloodshot.

“I’m not here to get a report,” Haxus cut him off in the middle of another sycophantic line. “My concern lies with our missing soldiers.”

“Oh,” the manager sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. “Sorry, but unless something significant happens, I can’t really put names with faces. They come and go.”

It was all he could do to keep from palming his face in exasperation. “Very well. I will leave you to it then.”

The oaf actually wiped his nose and performed the salute with snot clinging to his hand. “Vrepit Sa!”

Never before had saluting made Haxus’ stomach queasy. “Vrepit Sa.”

* * *

Katie took her first bathroom break to undo the edges of the vent cover. She had to climb on a toilet and shimmy up to straddle the stall wall so she could reach it. Working quickly, she listened for footsteps outside the door and once the cover was off, she sealed it in place with gray duct tape that blended into the metal ceiling and no one ever thinks to look up. They come in, get their business done, and return to work. The factory didn’t pay by the hour, but by per component finished so no one kills too much time with bathroom breaks.

She went back to the floor and worked a half hour before taking another bathroom break. If someone asks or looks at her strangely, she’ll say it’s that time of the month and that always quickly dismisses any skepticism. The Galra had the same aversion to female cycles as human men did.

After a quick climb onto the stall, she worked her way into the vent, pulling the cover up after her. With the flashlight pen between her teeth, she crawled northward, then right. There was a vertical shaft ahead that should take her up to the second level, main office. She moved slow, sliding her hands and legs over the surfaces, not picking them up unless she had to. It wouldn’t do if someone heard her thumping in the vents and investigate.

Standing up in the narrow shaft, she pressed her back against the vertical wall and lifted one leg and then the other and set her feet against the opposite wall. Than she began to walk herself slowly up the shaft. By the time she heard the voices, her legs were beginning to ache and a loose nut was digging into her back.

“Our production numbers have increased past the quota. Just threaten the humans with a hot rods and they work like little kreets in a hive.” It was followed with a nasal laugh and a sniffle.

Katie rolled her eyes. Yeah, Sniffles, she dubbed the voice, recognizing it from the intercom.  He had mentioned it the hot rod a few times, but he never brought his fat ass down to wave it at them.  He voice usually went ignored on the floor.  

“I’m not here to get a report,” a deep voice said impatiently. “My concern lies with our missing soldiers.”

There were Galra missing? Did Lance and Hunk have anything to do with it? Or the rebels? This was an interesting tidbit of information she filed away for later. She stayed perfectly still and listened, willing the Galra to finish their business and leave.

Sniffles sniffled some more at Deep Voice and she shot a glare at the slits of light floating above her. Hurry up! I’m about to fall!

“Very well. I will leave you to it then.”

She raised her eyes to the top of the shaft in a silent thanks to the Divine and listened to Sniffles and Deep Voice chant their salutes and the shuffling of footsteps. A door opened and more footsteps faded into a hall, and then the door shutting. It was now or never.

She gave them a few minutes to get further away before she vertically climbed the rest the way to the vent and coax it opened with the multi-tool knife. Catching the edge of the cover as it fell loose, she slid out, and propped the cover against the wall.  She took just one second to stretch the ache out of her back and legs and then went to work.

Pulling up her pants leg, she pulled the duct taped smartphone from her calf and unlocked it. Pulling a cord from the side, she plugged it into a port, and booted a program she created to translate Galra code. The terminal screen flashed to life and as the two computers synced, she pulled up her right sleeve and pulled the chip Lance gave her free of the tape. Studying it beforehand, she found it was not only would allow her to piggyback on the Galra extranet, it carried a trojan program designed to collect data and sent it to a remote outlet.

Once the terminal displayed the main screen, Katie plugged the chip drive in and it instantly went to work uploading itself. A progress bar popped up and she swallowed as it inched its way across the screen. Here she was hoping she would be in and out of this office within seconds. As a precaution, she had the door magnetically sealed and overwrote the locking codes. It wouldn’t keep them out for long, but it would buy her time to get out of there if they came back before she was done.

* * *

There it was again. An uneasiness nagging at the back of his mind like a pest crawling through his fur. He scratched the back of his neck, ignoring the oaf’s simpering platitudes. Vix was bringing the transport around and despite Haxus’ many hints that he could find his own way, the oaf continued to follow him.

He thinks if he needles me enough with how well the factory is operating I’ll arrange a promotion. If he tries to shake my hand with that hand I’ll shoot him.

From his hip, he took his scanner and began accessing the extranet, if only to keep his hands occupied. On a whim, he access security of the facility in case he missed anything unusual, and perhaps if he wound a weak spot, he could give simpering bastard something to go chase and leave him alone. Nothing so far, the sentries were acting according to their programming, the factory security cameras were all running, and all doors that should be locked were locked. Just as he was about to move onto another program, something caught his eye. There was a list of authorize terminals currently accessing the extranet now. One of them was located in the main office, at the manager’s private terminal . . .and the manager was right here beside him.

“Alert security,” Haxus only took time to say before he sprinted back inside the facility leaving the sniffing oaf to stare quizzically at his retreating back. He held the scanner with one hand and grabbed his gun with the other.

* * *

“C’mon,” Katie mumbled as the progress seemingly taunted her with its slow crawl to 100%. “I got a family to find . . .”

Then it finally slipped over to full. Katie tapped in a word at the terminal and watched the information, mirrored on her smartphone translate the text. It worked! She now had full access to the Galra extranet, but slow without the relays.

First she brought up the prisoner registry. On the first screen was a long list of names of humans who have been arrested. Many were slated for execution or hard labor in various districts. No, she needed off planet. She widen the search to humans held off planet. Surely they didn’t cart that many humans from Earth.

Sure enough, four names popped up at the top. 

_ Samuel Holt –  _ **_Mining Camp; Pelar_ **

_ Matt Holt –  _ **_UNKNOWN_ **

_ Takashi Shirogane –  _ **_Heart of the Empire / Arena_ **

_ Bridget Walsh –  _ **_Heart of the Empire / Zenana_ **

Why was there ‘unknown’ next to Matt’s name? Where was Pelar? Who was Bridget Walsh? What was the Heart of the Empire?

These questions could have been simply answered with the Galra extranet at her fingertips, but at that moment she heard the thuds of running boots from outside followed by a hand slapping the panel and being denied entry.

“Open the door!” A deep voice demanded.

“Crap,” Katie moaned staring at the screen, pained that all she had needed was just two more minutes. She cleared the terminal history, hastily unplugged her smartphone and chip drive and tuck them both in her pockets. Then she scrambled for the vent.

* * *

righthere

It took only seconds for him to override the door locks. He was in before the door fully opened. A small human female was crawling into an open vent.

With a roar, he full sprinted across the office and just as her foot was disappearing into the vent he leapt across several yards, throwing himself forward. He thrust his arm into the vent, socketing his shoulder against the wall, and he grabbed the first solid thing his hand found. There was a wail of fright as he caught hold of what felt like a skinny leg. His other hand pushed against the wall as he began pulling her up.

“Let go!” came a panicked shriek echoing from the shaft.

“You and I are going to have a little chat first,” Haxus sneered nastily. She was so small and light. Were the rebels recruiting children?

Then there was a flash of pain across the back of his hand. He yelped, more out of shock than pain. He nearly dropped her and he strengthen his grip til he was sure he was bruising her to the bone. “You little . . .” He didn’t have a chance to finish his sentence as more pain seared across his hand.

What was she doing!?

“Let go!” she screamed again, this time her voice was laced with pain.

“Let’s get a look at you . . .” he said just as the toe of her shoe made an appearance and then it was his turn to scream.

His hand convulsed, opening, and freeing his prize. There was a frighten cry which ended in a clang from the bottom of the vent. Haxus pulled his hand up and saw three inches of a switchblade poking through his palm while the rest of the knife stuck up between the bones of his hand like a flagpole.

* * *

The roar of rage reverberating through the shaft, echoing off the metal walls and hurting her ears. She clapped her hands over them, but could still hear the malicious words.

“I’LL KILL YOU, YOU LITTLE RAT!!! I’LL CUT YOUR EYES OUT!!!”

She groaned, but had no time to be hurt or to recover. She needed to move. Now.

Ignoring her aching back and the possibility she was making the injuries she sustained worse, she scrambled down the shaft, thumping and sliding along with all four limbs. There was no time for her to grab the flashlight, she had to find her way back by memory. At one point in time, she would later believe, she must have been loping on all fours like a dog or cat.

She kicked the cover out of the way. It fell, clanging off the top of the stall and clattered across a toilet in the next stall while in the stall below her was occupied.

“JAYSUS CHRIST!!!” A large hairy man sitting on the toilet barked looking up at her with wide brown eyes.

“Sorry,” Katie said as she climbed down, careful to take the next stall and not one occupied.

“Oh shit,” the man hissed. “What the fuck you doin’ up there, girl? You goin’ t’ piss off them purple kats!”

“I think they’re already mad,” Katie said quickly as she used the strips of duct tape she had rolled up in her pocket to take her tools back into the hiding places. The man was hurrying out of the bathroom walking in such a squat way, she doubted that he properly finished on the toilet. She wasn’t far behind him.

With her heart pounding, she walked back onto the floor. Did the Galra get a good look at her? Would he recognize her if he saw her? She needed to leave. She headed for the double doors leading to the bus and hoped it was there and ready to leave. Maybe if she got out before they sounded the alarm.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the man from the bathroom whispering hurriedly to another man next to his station. He was a shorter black man, and his eyes were wide and white in his dark face. His eyes scanned the floor and landed on her, the only young girl among them.

She needed get to the bus.

* * *

Haxus took a deep breath and braced himself before wrenching the knife from his hand. His hand burned in agony . Blood rolled down the sleeve of his bodysuit, but he had no time or anything to stem the flow. He shoved himself to his feet and bolted for the door, leaving a spotty trail of blood behind him. The oaf appeared wide eyed with two guards behind him at the door.

“She’s on the first level, you idiots,” he rasped as he shoved through them.

The elevator was too slow. He took the stairs, taking them down two and three at a time. He forgot his injury just as he reached the bottom, cursing when he grabbed the railing to leap the last several steps. The pain momentarily paralyzed his right arm, nearly throwing off his balance when he landed. He caught himself against the wall with his good hand. The pause gave him a chance to think of where the vent could have ended. Where would humans have access to a vent that couldn’t be seen by Galra?

Humans were only granted access on the factory floor where it was too public to pry open a vent. From outside?

He brought up his computer with his left and growled when he realized that his right was useless for typing. His fingers could barely moved and agony flared through his hand when he tried. He heard thudding from behind him. The oaf was nearly rolling down the stairs to keep up. Heaving and sniffling, he leaned against the wall to support himself on the way down.

“We had an intruder?” the oaf sniffed.

Haxus felt his blood boiled. “Do you know where the vents end on this level?”

“Uh, vents?”

Haxus exploded. “The vents, damn you! She used the vents! Where!?”

A guard that came down behind the oaf, who was quicker than his superior, both mentally and physically, said, “The only vents humans have access to is on the floor and the restrooms.”

“Show me!”

* * *

Tonight was going to be different as Thace decided when he removed Keith’s shackles and produced a deck of cards. Keith stared dubiously as Thace shuffled them. “What is this? An alien interrogation technique that’s going to have me spilling my guts?”

Thace quirked an eyebrow, still unused to the humans’ colorful idioms. “I’m getting bored with the questions, aren’t you?”

He dealt the cards five a piece and laid the remaining deck face down between them. Then he took a smaller deck and took a card from the top and put it on his side and tossed a second to Keith’s side. He put this smaller deck face down beside the larger one. Keith eyed the pile of cards in front of him, his arms crossed, and leaning back from them as if they could be dangerous.

“They aren’t going to bite,” Thace said gathering his cards and looking through them and arranging them in an order to his liking. “Look at your hand.”

Keith looked between the cards and Thace, but finally collected them in hand, more out of curiosity than in obedience. They resembled human cards, but larger for Galra’s hands. Instead of Spades, Hearts, Diamonds, or Clubs, the cards were printed with images of starships and planets with strange symbols. The smaller card was a list of cards with corresponding symbols. Thace explained the rules of Victory and Sabotage. The goal of the game was to complete the player’s mission was dictated in the small card. Each player draw three cards each turn, then each player can either play a card to fulfill a mission requirement on their list or sabotage the other’s mission. The trick is to guess what the other player’s mission requirements as some plays could hinder the opponent or backfire by helping them.

The first round served as a learning curve for Keith and then midway through the second round, Keith was studying his cards thoughtfully, his mind in the game. He didn’t speak much, Thace noticed, but he was quite clever and daring, he thought when Keith made a bold play and forced Thace to abandon his mission and discard his entire hand.

“You’ve played card games a lot?” Thace asked as he put a card in play that aided his mission.

Keith shrugged. “Yeah, in foster care. Cards were cheap and it kept us occupied for hours.”

“Foster care? What is that?” Thace inquired.

“It’s for orphans or kids who can’t stay with their parents,” Keith said toying with his cards, “They get shipped from home to home with a bunch of other kids until you outgrow the system then they kick you out to fend for yourself.”

“Did you stay in a lot of homes?”

Keith laughed, “Yeah. One year I got moved to three different homes and three different schools.”

“That must have been difficult.”

Keith shrugged.

This was nice. As long as he stayed away from hot topics such as the knife and Galaxy Garrison, then Keith answered in his taciturn way without giving him a scathing look. And he was able to see a more relaxed side of this youth, something he hadn’t seen before. Keith intrigued him more and more as they spoke together without the wall of suspicion between them.

“The caretakers of these homes; were they kind to you?”

There was a long silence. Keith looked up from his cards, his face falling back from the deep concentration to discomfort. Thace waited patiently, knowing that he was remembering, and judging from the tightening around his lips, they weren’t good memories. Then Keith said, “Some tried to be.”

Now Thace had a better understanding of how the youth came about his armor of indifference. A hard childhood always provided a sturdy frame when it came to armor against hardship and disappointment. “You said your father died. What happened?”

Keith’s eyes widen with an emotion Thace couldn’t name. The youth shifted uneasily in his seat. “He went into town for groceries and a drunk ran a stop sign. Dad lived for three days in intensive care and passed away.” Then with a hard edge in his voice, he added, “While his relatives were packing up his stuff, I found the knife hidden in the floorboard beneath his bed and I took it.”

Thace chose to ignored this jab about the knife. Instead, he asked, “Didn’t your father’s relatives take you in?”

Keith shifted back in his chair, clearly not liking where the questioning was going. “They were distant relatives. I never met them before and I barely did when they swooped in to claim his belongings after he died. They told child services they didn’t have enough room to take me in while they hauled Dad’s furniture off in their expensive SUVs and U-hauls.”

The game continued. Again, Keith made an attack which Thace thwarted with a well played block. Then he inquired, “Your mother . . .?”

“Never knew her. She left after I was born,” Keith said. “Child Welfare had no way of finding her. They couldn’t even find her name or contact info among Dad’s papers.” He shrugged dismissively, “If she’s not interested in me, then I’m not interested in her.”

He said it with such finality that Thace knew he was finished with the topic of his parents. He laid down a card marking another completed objective to complete his mission much to Keith’s chagrin.

“My father . . .” Thace began.

“Lemme guess,” Keith said, laying his cards down. “He died, right? Shit, I guess you took the same Psych 101 classes with the other shrinks, huh? Next you’ll be asking me how that makes me feel and all that other crap that never helped anyone.” Rolling his eyes and crossing his arms, he sighed, “I should have known when you pulled out the card deck. Lower my defenses by engaging in an activity, huh? Try to get me to open up and tell you the truth, which I have been for days! The knife was my Dad’s! I never stole it! Swapping dead daddy stories isn’t going to change that!”

The room was filled with a charged silence. Thace’s face was impassive, staring across at the youth who was glaring at him with arms crossed and his armor back up with full reinforcement. Thace was quiet for a long time. He laid his cards down and folded his hands into a steepled beneath his chin. “My father killed himself when I was a child.”

Keith blinked, raised brows betraying his surprise.

“My mother was in my life, but she wasn’t apart of it,” Thace continued, “She foisted me into military school and remarried shortly after my father’s suicide. She wanted to be rinse of the stigmata of my father’s dishonorable and cowardly death and that included me.”

Violet eyes lowered from his, shame dimming them. “I’m sorry, I . . . I shouldn’t have said those things.”

“It’s alright,” Thace said, finding that he was willing forgive Keith instantly. It still stung, but seeing and hearing Keith’s regret was a soothing balm. It had been years since he last thought of his father. So why did he bring him up now? To bond with Keith? To get him to open up? It was a cheap ploy to play, but then, was it a ploy after all? A part of him actually wanted Keith to see they had a lot in common despite the differences between them.

Keith leaned forward, his hands fidgeting, “Again, I’m sorry for what I said, but . . .shit . . . let’s cut through the bullshit, please? I used to be part of Galaxy Garrison Academy, I never graduated because I was expelled. I haven’t been around them since then. As for the knife, I’ve been telling the truth about it since the beginning.”

Thace looked at him for a long time. He took in the boy’s sincerity, the shape of his eyes that wasn’t holding anger or resentment right now and wondered what they would be like filled with affection. He dismissed the thoughts quickly, but they lingered at the back of his mind like the whispers of onlookers.

“I cannot give you back the knife,” he held up a hand to halt Keith’s protest. “However, I am letting you go. I have detained you long enough during my investigation and the evidence points to you are telling the truth, in regards to Galaxy Garrison that is.”

Keith looked as if he couldn’t decide between being angry or relieved. He placed his hands flat on the table and swallowed back any lingering protests. This was a chance at freedom and he wasn’t about to squander it. “Fine.”

There was still determination in his eyes that Thace found himself pleased to see. No longer would he have to hunker in the corner of a dark bar to watch him as the youth would be coming to him in hopes of getting the knife back.  He drew a card from his bodysuit pocket and slid it across to Keith. “If you want to talk, here is my comm-code. It’s a private line, not monitored, so feel free to call about anything. If I’m busy, leave a message and I’ll get in touch.”

Keith accepted the card, staring at it as if he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. “O-okay, I guess. W-why are you doing this?”

“Those forsaken by mothers need to stick together, I suppose.”

After Keith left the station, Thace felt warm in that he managed to find a chink in Keith’s armor. The youth’s eyes didn’t carry any affection for him, nor any open tolerance, but there was no anger or hate in the beautiful violet orbs when he was freed.

Then Thace chastise himself. He needed to stay focus and report the knife to his contacts so his sect could be aware of the lost knife and they can determine the identity of the owner. There was still the possibility that Keith was in contact with rebels, but now that seemed doubtful as he understood him better now. He saw himself in Keith.

His father’s suicide made him a social outcast. His father killed himself just before a much sought after promotion which would have elevated their family in the Galra Hierarchy. His mother was pragmatic after the tragedy; she sent her son into the military years earlier than usual so he could forge his own way and married the first suitable suitor. At least she saw to it that he inherited his father’s holdings once he came of age.  It had been many years since he had spoken of his father. The last person he had shared that with had been someone who helped him to understand himself and his sexuality, a past lover who parted ways with him when the cause took him away.

His wrist comm chirruped urgently. He answered the call, irritated as he didn’t want to be disturbed. “Yes, what is it?”

“Sir, there’s been rebel activity in the munitions factory! An officer was shot!”

* * *

Any second now, the Galra was going to come charging down and see her. Just as she was making her way across the floor, the sentry posted at the door blocked her. She froze, terrified she was going to be arrested right then.

“Return to your station. No one is permitted to leave.” It simply said in a deep male voice.

“S-sorry,” Katie said and hurried away.

She contemplated returning to the bathroom and going back into the vent.  The vents led throughout the plant and there was one that led outside.  However, she had to abandoned that idea when she saw several Galra bolt from a stairway and into the restroom. The floor took on a terrified silence as human eyes followed them and then eyes went to her as word had spread of what she had done. Some of them were even glaring at her accusingly.

Katie knew if she tried to hide, her own people would point her out in order to save themselves from whatever reprisal the Galra might take. Stories of Galra interrogation techniques crawled through her brain like insects. She had to get out.

* * *

The uncovered shaft hung open like an offensive exposure. Whoever designed this facility needed to be shot for making this vent so easily accessible to natives, Haxus thought to himself.

Purplish blood was dotting the floor at his feet and his hand was throbbed with each beat of his heart. Haxus considered the paper towels to stop his hand bleeding, but decided against it as humans had touched them. The oaf was stammering, declaring he couldn’t understand how this could happen. It was giving Haxus a headache on top of everything else.

“Line the humans up and search them,” Haxus ordered, “If there’s a small human female with brown hair, arrest her on sight and bring her to me.”

There were shots fired from the floor followed by panic screams. Haxus reached for his gun and growled when his injured hand protested the action. The soldiers took up positions by the doors while the sniffling oaf fumbled for his gun, nearly shooting himself in the leg in his haste. With a nod from Haxus, a soldier kicked open the door and revealed the chaos on the factory floor.

People were trying to hide beneath the assembly lines and cowering in the corners while sentries fired randomly towards a chute at the end of an assembly line. The explosive shots rang through his ears, echoing off the metal walls. Haxus couldn’t see what they were firing at or if there were any returning fire.

Using the lines as cover, he made his way forward, gripping his gun in his off hand. Hopefully, he wouldn’t need much accuracy when dealing with the rebel, but something was off. If the rebel had a gun, why hadn’t she use it before? Why only a knife?

An explosive bang startled him and then it was like he was punched in the shoulder. Searing pain flowed through his shoulder like acid. He had been shot before and each time was just as painful as the last.

“Ohhhhhhh,” came the moan from behind him and he knew who it was without having to turn around. “Sir, I didn’t mean . . .”

“You . . .fucking . . .idiot,” Haxus ground out through his teeth.

Combined with his hand that had been bleeding and now this, he was going into shock. The pain was fading, to be replaced by cold creeping beneath his bodysuit and his vision was beginning to blur. He noticed the shooting had stopped. He slumped, nearly across an assembly line and uttered, “Did you find her?”

A guard appeared in his field of vision, a tall blur of gray and purple, “No, sir. She escaped in the chaos.”

Haxus was too weak to utter the string of expletives that came to mind. Instead, he bled and demanded, “Don’t just stand there. Send out a search party. Arrest all the humans and begin questioning them. Get an analyst up to the main office and see what the damage is.”

As he spoke, his voice sounded further and further away, as if his speaking from the end of a long tunnel and he was beginning to see that tunnel encroaching on his vision from all sides. He was passing out, but there was one more thing he needed to say before he gave into the seeping darkness.

“Arrest him for shooting a superior!” he growled in the direction of the near sobbing oaf who now seem to be standing at the far end of the tunnel, which finally swallowed him up and he felt no pain.

* * *

The cherry bombs had been useful with long wicks that once rubbed between a thumb and finger would light within seconds. They sounded exactly like gunshots which threw the crowd into a chaotic panic which allowed her to slip by the sentry guarding the door.

Now she had a long run ahead of her through the desert. Staying away from the road, she went south, constantly looking over her shoulder for the lights of a patrol hover. It would be her luck to go through all of this only to be run down and arrested. Thankfully, she had the foresight not to use her real name when digging up a work permit. They shouldn’t have anything to trace her.

Despite her burning legs, she kept going, knowing what waited for her if she was caught and that her mother would lose yet another family member. Then guilt assailed her, remembering the fight she had with Mom and knowing that if she had been arrested, those likely would have been their last words.

Katie wasn’t aware of her cracked ribs until she stopped to grab a breather and nearly fell over when she took a deep breath. Oh, that hurt.

Taking a glance behind her to make sure she saw no lights or pursuit, she lifted up her shirt and tenderly touched her side where she had landed heavily in the vent. Pain flared through her torso and she winced, feeling nausea and dreading how much it would hurt if she started throwing up now.

Staying in one place for too long wouldn’t help her chances of escaping. She kept going, taking slow breaths at a steady jog.

* * *

When Haxus came to, he was propped up against a wall with his hand and shoulder covered in adhesive. A plasma bag connected to an IV in his wrist was replenishing the blood he had lost. His head still pounded and his throat felt raw.  He saw Thace speaking in hushed tones with a guard. Stirring, he drew Thace’s attention who dismissed the guard and walked over.

“You’re going to live?” Thace asked indifferently.

“Much to your disappointment,” Haxus retorted, rising, using the wall as support with his good hand. He tugged the IV from his wrist and discarded the plasma bag on the assembly line. They were still on the assembly floor, the humans had been taken away and sentries were swarming the building looking for the rebel. “Have they found anything?”

“No. The humans are being questioned and I have an analysts in the main office, but the terminal had been infected with a virus wiping the terminal. It’ll take some time before they find anything, if they can that is.”

“Send their findings to my assistant,” Haxus said, “And I want that human bitch found.” His hand was still throbbing despite the pain killers making is head feel as if it was full of fog.

“Speaking of your assistant,” Thace replied casually, “He’s been trying to contact you for the last twenty minutes. I suggest you return his calls.” With that said, Thace turned on his heel and walked away.

Haxus contacted Vix through his wrist comm, “Vix? This is Haxus.”

“Sir! Oh, sir! Did you get my messages?”  Vix sounded as if he were on the verge of panic.  

“No, I was occupied. Tell me.”

“They found them, sir!”  Vix cried so loud the signal turned to static.  

“Them?” For a brief second, he believed Vix was referring to the human girl.

“The missing soldiers!”

“What?” Now he remembered his original purpose for coming to this dismal place. “I want them arrested and question . . .”

“But sir, they’re all dead.”

It may have been the remnants of blood loss and pain, but now Haxus felt very sick and very tired. His missing persons investigation, just became a murder investigation, and with possible rebel involvement.

* * *

It was several hours later until Katie made it back to her neighborhood. She knew the back ways and had to painfully climb over a fence, but managed it without being seen. The streets were empty with only a dog barking in the distance.   With it still being the early hours of morning and the sun was going to make its appearance soon. She needed to get off the street and somewhere safe while it was still dark.

There was a house ahead with a white picket fence. Behind it was a taller brown wooden fence that would give her some cover when she made her way across to the neighboring backyard. She didn’t have to worry about tripping private home securities because those were all confiscated by the Galra. Though, she may be in trouble if they have yard dog.

“Katie?”

She froze at the corner of a fence. The voice sounded familiar, friendly, but she wasn’t willing to call back.

“Katie, it’s me,” the voice hissed from an open door. The inside light was still off so she couldn’t see the figure in the doorway at first. A face peered out and in the moonlight, Katie could see blonde hair hanging loose over shoulders. “It’s Sammi.”

Katie gasped, “Sammi? Just . . . go back to bed . . .”

“What are you doing out here?” Sammi stepped outside. A large voluminous robe hung off her body. It looked like a man’s robe of burgundy cotton and it was tied at the front in a big bow. “Come inside before you get in trouble!”

Katie considered her options. She might be able to sneak into her house without waking her mother, but if by some chance she did, then she would have to explain to Mom why she was back so soon and looked as if she had just got ran over by a truck.

“I’m coming.”

The house was nice with a flowery theme with begonia printed wallpaper and several vases with flowers in different stages of wilting. Sammi held a finger to her lips and led Katie upstairs to her bedroom and it was what Katie would have expected from the Sammi of old. There were old posters of attractive male celebrities and boy bands from before the invasion. There was even an old guitar sitting in the corner.

Sammi noticed her looking at it. “That’s from my old music phase. I got it in my crazy head that I could become a rock star, but I can’t carry a tune to save my life. I still like to play it sometimes, ya know?”

“It’s cool. I’m not much for music either. Mom had the idea that Matt and I should join the school choir group and we were both were so horrible they kicked us out that same day because they thought we were doing it on purpose.”

Sammi gave her a smile which was rare these days. “I think there’s enough room on the bed for both of us, if you’re okay with that. I can go the linen closet and get more blankets.”

“Can I use your bathroom?”

“Sure, it’s just down the hall.”

In the bathroom, Katie peeled up her shirt and stared in horror at the patches of black and blue on her back. Rolling up her pants leg revealed a large encircling bruise around the leg where the Galra had grabbed her. These would take time fading, but they hurt a lot.  Maybe she could get some painkillers at the medical office later today.

“Katie, I laid some pajamas by the door,” Sammi said softly through the door, “They may be too big, but they’re all I have.”

“It’s alright. I’ll manage, thanks,” Katie said hastily pulling down her pants leg.

She removed all her infiltration tools and rolled them up inside her shirt and pants. The pajamas Sammi chose for her was an old light green cotton fabric that looked like it had belonged to her mother. It had a pocket over the right breast. Who needed a pocket while sleeping? The sleeves and legs were too long so she rolled the pants leg up so she can walk without tripping.  Fortunately, it would cover all her bruises and prevent Sammi from asking more uncomfortable questions.

Sammi was sitting on her bed with her guitar on her lap, plucking at the few chords. She could barely balance it on her knee because of the voluminous robe. Katie didn’t recognize the song she was halfheartedly playing, but still found it a pretty nonetheless.

Was an explanation required for why she was outside in the middle of the night? What would she say? Certainly not the truth.

“Katie,” Sammi said softly, stopping her play. “I . . . I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while.”

“Sure, about what?” Katie sat down on the bed beside her.

“I feel that I can trust you and share anything with you,” Sammi set the guitar on the floor, near her feet. She turned to Katie, her blue eyes softening. “I think you’re the closest friend I ever had.”

Katie felt heat rise to her cheeks. She felt touched and uncomfortable at the same time. “Uh, thanks, I guess.”  And how were they such close friends?  They barely spoke to each other at work and they only walk home together for Sammi to feel safe on the street.

Sammi shifted on the bed, considered the front of her robe and began loosening the knot. “I’m so happy that you showed up when you did. There’s . . .something I need to tell you. Something I can only share with you.”

Katie swallowed. Oh, she was not expecting this. “Sammi, listen, I think you’re nice and all . . .”

“It’s been horrible keeping this to myself, but no one will understand. Who can?” Sammi spread aside her robe and lifted up her pajama top and pushed down the bottoms, exposing her lower stomach and pelvis.

Katie averted her eyes, her face glowing red. What did she stumble onto!? “Listen, maybe I should just leave . . .”

“Here, I need you to feel this.” Sammi took her hand.

“I really don’t!” Katie cried as her hand was taken despite her resistance. She turned her head, looking away, too embarrassed to see what Sammi was going to have her touch.

Her open palm was placed over warm skin and Sammi pressed her hand over Katie’s. “Feel.”

At first, Katie felt only skin and heat. Then she noticed the hardness beneath the skin, something round and solid. She turned her face back to Sammi and stared at the telltale roundness of Sammi’s belly.

Katie swallowed, feeling as if the world was going to collapse on them both. “Oh, Sammi . . .”

“That cat bastard did more than just rape me,” Sammi said, just on the edge of a sob. “He got me pregnant. I’m fucking pregnant with an alien baby.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments or Kudos is much appreciated. 
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr through RebelCourtesan muse blog.


	14. Shiro

_ The pain came and went with his consciousness. Sometimes he could see lights blaring into his eyes and the murmuring of distant voices. It was hard to remember what happened and where he was, but he knew he was injured, severely injured. He could feel the damage inside him, his organs struggling to function despite the perforation and his life’s blood seeping out of him. _

_ What would kill him first, he wondered, the shock or blood loss? So it was finally happening, what every gladiator knew was inevitable. All it took was one mistake, coming against a stronger opponent, or just bad luck. _

_ Keith. Keith would never know what happened to him and in that was both a blessing and a curse. _

_ He had been a kid at the edge of being ousted from the system until Shiro reeled him back in by mentoring him. After setting Keith back on the right path, the kid’s grades soared from failing scores to being among the top students. His piloting skills grew sharper under Shiro’s tutelage and guidance as the kid had been an eager student soaking up all he could teach like a sponge.  And Keith had an edge, a natural talent for piloting that showed promise of surpassing Shiro’s own skills.  He had so much potential and Shiro hoped that without him, Keith didn’t squander it by letting his inborn anger and impulsiveness get the better of him. Keith could lead his own squadron someday, he had the leadership skills for it, he’d just has to learn to let people in. _

_ Darkness was seeping around him and he fell back into memory. _

* * *

“What happened?”

The police station smelled of drunks; alcohol and urine. The walls were whitewashed, but smudged with pencil and marker graffiti. The station hummed with the life of people speaking on phones, the rattle of typing, papers rattling, and chairs squeaking. Keith sat on the bench in the hall near lockup with his arms crossed and his eyes staring at the far wall brooding. Anything not to look at Shiro who stood before him.

“Keith,” Shiro repeated expectantly.

“It wasn’t my fault,” Keith said with a shift of his shoulders.

“What wasn’t your fault?

“Didn’t the cop tell you?”  He continued to sullenly stare at the wall.  

“Yes, but I want to hear your side of it,” Shiro said sternly. “What happened?”

Keith raked a hand through his dark hair. His violet eyes cast to the side for a moment then back to Shiro. “I only wanted to grab a bite to eat.”

There was a pause. Shiro waited, but Keith said nothing.  Then Shiro’s brow crinkled, “Okay, you’ve established that you went into the restaurant, so what happened next?”

Keith continued, “I was just sitting there, minding my own business, eating a burger, when this girl comes up to me. She sits beside me and asks me if I’m from the Garrison. I said, yes, I am. Then she starts asking me all these questions about it.”

“Alright, I think I see where this is going, but keep going,” Shiro sighed. This wasn’t the first time the oblivious Keith had been the object of desire for the fairer sex.

“Then these guys show up. One of ‘em, asshole number one . . .”

“Language!” Shiro interrupted.

“Moron number one,” Keith amended, “said I was messing with his girlfriend. I told him she’s annoying so he could keep her. Then that ticked her off and she said I tried to grope her. I said she didn’t have anything I wanted to touch.”

Shiro drew a breath and slowly let it out through his mouth, exasperated by Keith’s lack of tact. “You couldn’t have said that you didn’t know she had a boyfriend? Did you have to offend her too?”

Keith gave him one of his usual shrugs. Likely, the thought had never occurred to him. Shiro wasn’t certain if it was a defensive mechanism from years in the foster care system or was it just an innate desire to pick fights. Granted, Keith doesn’t go looking for them, but when one comes to him, he never turns away from it.

“What happened next?”

“Then asshole number two . . .”

“Language, Keith,” Shiro reminded him.

“Moron number two,” Keith amended with an eye roll, “jumps in saying he was going to knock my smart mouth off my face.”

“You couldn’t have apologized and walked away?”

Keith looked as if Shiro suggested he stick a finger in a running blender. “Then asshole number 3 . . .”

Shiro halted him, “Keith, language, stop.”

“Moron. Number. One,” Keith corrected, getting tired of the interruptions due to his choice of vocabulary. “called me a faggot. I said, I’m not the one hanging behind my buddies to watch their asses from behind.”

Shiro rubbed the bridge of his nose, giving up on correcting Keith’s language and just ready to be done. “Is that when he punched you?”

“When he tried to punch me,” Keith said with a note of pride that quickly died from the dark look from Shiro.

“Alright, let me finish the story,” Shiro said distastefully. “They tried to jump on you and you defended yourself.  One has a broken arm, a second has concussion, and the third one is in the hospital.”

Keith shrugged, “I don’t really keep track.”

“No, you don’t,” Shiro agreed. “C’mon, the deputy says you’re free to go. There aren’t going to be any charges because CCTV shows they attacked first. And wipe that smile off your face! Just because the cops are done with you doesn’t mean I am.”

Keith solemnly rose to his feet, knowing what he was in for: a long lecture and sparring in the training hall. A lot of sparring.

On the drive back to the Academy, Shiro began his lecture, “Keith, you could just have walked away.”

“Yeah,” Keith replied, leaning against the window of Shiro’s rental.

Since Shiro was on missions and training so often, he didn’t see the need to buy a car and make payments when a rental did just fine.  Keith had been trying to convince to buy one of the newer sports car models.  With his income, he could easily afford it, but Shiro declined stating that it made no sense to spend so much money on a car he would only be able to drive a few times a month.

“Why didn’t you?”  Shiro demanded.

Keith groaned, hating it when Shiro cornered him like this. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do know,” Shiro said doggedly. “You don’t look for fights, but you don’t turn them down. Keith, that whole altercation could have easily been avoided.”

“You weren’t there,” Keith replied indignantly, “Those guys came at me wanting to fight, all I did was oblige them.”

“It’s true that sometimes you can’t turn away from a fight,” Shiro conceded, but didn’t lose his sternness, “but there’s also using excessive force. You’re skilled enough to neutralize them without causing severe injury. What if you had killed one of them?”

“I didn’t,” Keith shot back.

“You could have!” Shiro raised his voice vehemently, smacking the steering wheel with one hand. “What if one of them hit their head or broke their neck or fell on something sharp? What if one of them had a weak heart and you punched him in the chest? And that’s not even considering what could have happened if one of them had a knife or a gun! You could have been killed! And for what? Your pride?”

Keith stayed silent throughout the harangue. His eyes were lowered with his elbow propped against the edge of the window. They both rode in silence in the dark car until they came to the checkpoint where Shiro took his ID pass dangling from the rear view mirror and let the guard scan it. Keith passed his along for the guard to scan also and then they were waved through onto Galaxy Garrison grounds.

Finally Keith spoke as the Academy came into view, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

Shiro drew a slow breath to ease the tension in his shoulders and soothe the anger still bubbling in his chest. “That’s the problem. You have to think before you act. Walking away from a fight doesn’t make you a coward, it makes you a stronger man to just let go of anger to make smarter choices. And you are smarter than that Keith, I know you are.”

Keith looked ahead, but the defiant glare in his eyes was gone. “I’m sorry I let you down.”

“I’m just glad you’re alright and those guys will recover,” Shiro said kindly, relieved the lesson had finally sunk in. “But I think a few weeks without weekend visits to town will help you reflect, okay?”

“Yeah,” Keith sighed.

“And you’ll be spending those weekends sparring with me. Let’s see if we can work out some of that aggression out of your system.”

Keith groaned, “Sure.”

They pulled down the road leading into the main Academy’s parking lot. Shiro parked in his private parking spot closest to the double doors. Students were already heading inside, returning from their visit from town, some of them even pointing out Shiro’s car and staring at the top pilot of the Garrison and Keith, the ace pilot of the Academy.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” Shiro said ignoring the onlookers. “I was chosen for the Kerberos mission.”

Keith’s eyes brighten, “Whoa! That’s huge! I knew they would choose you.”

“Training starts next month,” Shiro said turning off the car and pocketing the keys. “So I’m not going to be here for your graduation.”

Keith shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”

“It is a big deal. Someone should be there to watch you receive your diploma and award for the highest simulation score of your class. Ya know, take pictures and cheer when they call your name.” Shiro playfully nudged him, taking joy in seeing the small smile play across Keith’s lips.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Keith said stretching and then shifting comfortably into his seat. “What happened with your date? Alison?  You didn’t have to cut it short because of me, did you?”

Shiro tapped his fingers on the steering wheel sheepishly. “No, the date ended early.  We kinda had a fight and . . . we kinda broke up.”

Keith stared, “Seriously? What happened? Alison was crazy about you.”

“Yeah, crazy,” Shiro rolled his eyes. “I told Alison about my mission to Kerberos and she proposed,”

Keith whistled in amazement. “Seriously? What did you say?”

“I said that it was too soon, we’d only been dating for three months, but then she said that her parents only knew each other for two months before they married. She kept going on about if something happened to me that we need to cherish the time we have left together . . .it got weird,” Shiro tilted his head back against the head cushion, grimacing at the memory. “I told her that since we both went into this relationship with different goals in mind, then maybe we should call it quits before one of us got hurt.”

“Oh,” Keith said feeling a sense of doom. “What happened next?”

“She called me a heartless bastard, threw her drink in my face, and stormed out. I bet she’s blasting me on social media right now,” Shiro said in resignation.

“To be honest, I never liked her,” Keith said patting Shiro’s arm. “I think she was more in love with the uniform than she was with you. You’ve done better than her.”

“What? You mean Madison? You hated her.”

“Only because she came onto me while you were out getting dinner.”

“What!?” Shiro said incredulously. “She did?”

“Yeah, I was pretty relieved when she transferred out.”

“And when are you going to get a girlfriend?” Shiro inquired, “or boyfriend?”

Keith shrugged, “Never thought about it.”

“What about that Cuban kid? The one I’ve seen you hanging around?”

Keith blinked, “What Cuban kid?”

“The blue eyed one that you’ve been arguing with during training?”

“Oh, him? Naw, it’s not like that. Just because he got a few high scores in the simulator, he thinks he’s my rival. Jerk.”

* * *

_ Consciousness rose like a tide, bringing him up to wakefulness, but he didn’t feel any pain and that worried him. Was he being treated? Or was it so bad that all the nerves were dying? _

_ Keith. He had done what he could for him, didn’t he? Made sure he used his head instead of his fists, to think before acting. Surely he had given him the skills he needed to survive the Galra. _

_ Matt. Was Matt even still alive? Or Samuel? He had protected them in the early days of their captivity. Shielded them from the brunt of their interrogations, by infuriating the Druids with insults and apparent lies, so the focus and the pain was on him. And when the Druids were convinced they had no information to give, they were turned over to the warden. _

_ Samuel never fully recovered from the interrogations. Most of the time he rested in their shared cell with meals being brought to him by Matt and Shiro.  Despite his condition, Samuel took great joy in speaking with the alien prisoners willing to talk to him. Some were even kind enough to give him some of the medicine they smuggled into the prison that eased his pain. _

_ Though Samuel found peace in the cell, Matt couldn’t rest, couldn’t stop being fearful of their surroundings, but he stubbornly refused to allow his father to see it. He put up a facade of bravery and cared for his father, and in private he spoke of his fears to Shiro, his worry for the mother and sister they left behind. _

* * *

“Shiro, they’ll think we just died in space due to some malfunction! They’ll never know what happened! They’ll never know to come look for us!” Matt clenched his hair with both hands. “And even if they did look, what are they going to do about the Galra?”

“Shhh, keep your voice down,” Shiro raised a hand and lowered it for Matt to keep his voice down.

They were standing in corner of the cell block close to the cell they shared with Samuel. Samuel was being tended to by Melmar, an alien prisoner, who served as the prison block’s medic. He was no doctor, but he knew enough that made him invaluable to sick and wounded prisoners. Melmar made his rounds among the cell blocks during meals when the prisoners were allowed out of their cells.  As long as Melmar was in the cell with Samuel, the old scientist was safe. The one unspoken rule of the prison was that no one hindered the healer’s rounds nor attacked him. Breaking this rule could have the healer turn a blind eye when offender needed him or those grateful to Melmar’s treatments may see it necessary to avenge him.

“We wait and bide our time,” Shiro said in a hush tone, watching the block from the corner of his eye.

The usual groups were together in their same hangouts and hopefully, it’ll remain that way. It was when things were out of norm that you had to worry as it could mean anything from a riot to an attack. Glancing up at the sentries posted on the second level of the block, he noted their visors weren’t tracking any particular movement. It was never safe in this prison, but it was less dangerous for now, at least.

“Yeah, patience yield focus,” Matt said sourly, staring at the wall with his arms cross and his back to the open, a very dangerous position, Shiro couldn’t help noticing.

“Matt, are you going to be alright?”  Shiro asked, concerned.  While Samuel had suffered physically, Matt had taken the emotional and mental strain of their interrogation and imprisonment.  

“Yeah, I just need a moment,” Matt said straightening and leaning against the wall next to Shiro.  He brushed his hair from his face and looked a great deal calmer, but Shiro knew that underneath it, Matt was a jumble of loose nerves ready to tie him in a knot again.  

Shiro wasn’t certain how long they had been imprisoned. It was hard to tell time without clocks and with the aliens different methods of measuring time. He could only guessed it’s been at least two months since Kerberos. Like Matt had been saying, Galaxy Garrison will chalk up their disappearance to a malfunction or error on the crew’s part. An investigation could take months and still, unless the Galra left behind evidence of their presence, then chances were they’ll never know they had been abducted.

“Dad’s getting worse,” Matt muttered, breaking into Shiro’s thoughts.

“Melmar is doing everything he can,” Shiro said reassuringly,

“But all he can do is delay the inevitable,” Matt said, a shadow casting over his face.

“Don’t talk like that,” Shiro said firmly. “He’s going to make it. I promise you he isn’t going to die here.”

Matt tilted his head back peering up at the eerie reddish lights overhead, “Well, I guess his life’s work is complete. We met aliens.”

It disturbed Shiro by the changes Matt had undergone since Kerberos. The youth had been full of life and optimism, loving every second of the journey to Kerberos. He was completely different person from the cynical, fatalistic young man next to him.

Before Shiro could think of anything to say, Melmar emerged from the cell. He was a short, stout creature that reminded Shiro of a badger with large thick paws and small black eyes. He waddled out on thick short legs with no visible knees. Shiro learned very early during his time as a prisoner not to treat shorter aliens like children; not to talk down to them nor kneel to speak face to face as he would with a small child.  They thought it was patronizing.  

“He’s doing better today,” Melmar announced when they approached him. He scratched his chin with a yawn showing off bucked incisors. When he closed his mouth with a soft clap, he continued, “but not as better as he should be.”

Shiro grimaced. This wasn’t the news they were hoping for. “What can help him?”

“He needs a doctor, which I’m not, he needs medicine which we don’t have, and he needs better food which we don’t get,” the alien counted off on his thick fingers. “Sunlight and fresh air would help, but some of us have been here so long we forgot what those are.”

“Then what can we do?” Shiro asked resignately.

“Rest, which he’s getting plenty of, but some exercise may help some. If he’s feeling up to it that is,” Melmar scratched the back of his head with a soft scrt, scrt sound. “Look, boys, I hate saying things like this so I’m gonna be straight with you. Unless things change, his condition is going to get steadily worse. I give him weeks at best.”

Matt closed his eyes and sagged as if all the air was leaving his body. “Dammit.”

Shiro swallowed and nodded, “Thank you, Melmar. We appreciate you doing what you can for him.”

“I’ll keep coming around. If . . . when the time comes, fetch me. I can make sure he’s comfortable at least.” With a compassionate nod, he waddled away to his next patient on his round.

Shiro thought back to when he met Samuel Holt, back on the first day of training for the Kerberos mission. Even though the man was nearly three times his age, he was as excited as his son about the mission, claiming it was as if he had won the lottery when Galaxy Garrison approved it. They had gone through the training simulations together and Shiro had been impressed with how well the man performed under the most stressful sims. He had been a wellspring of advice and wisdom and more than just a scientist spitting out facts and theories.  He was giddy as a child before take off and now he was going to die like an old man in a cell.

“Matt, he’s going to be okay . . .” Shiro began, trying to hold back the overwhelming emotion pushing against the back of his eyes.

“Shiro, you heard him,” Matt wasn’t looking at him, his eyes directed at the floor with a dejected slump in his shoulders. “He said Dad is going to die if we don’t get him out of here and I don’t see them letting us go anytime soon, do you?”

“We can’t give up on him,” Shiro said fiercely, “A lot can change in a few weeks. We can take him for a walk around the block for exercise and we can get him more food by giving him part of our share. I can go without for a day or two.”

Despite Shiro’s consolatory words, Matt’s spirits wouldn’t lift. “Sure, we could keep him alive and for what? To live for years in this hellhole?”

“Matt,” Shiro said warningly.

“Maybe it’s better if . . .”

“Matt!” Shiro seized him by the shoulders, startling the other prisoners close enough to hear, drawing curious and cautious stares. In a lower voice, Shiro said, “you’re worried. I’m worried too, but we can’t let worry keep us from finding an opportunity to help him. Take a walk and clear your head, but don’t go too far. I’ll check on your father.”

The other prisoners looked away, some relieved and others disappointed there was not going to be a row or a fight. Shiro’s hands fell from Matt and with no further word, he went inside the cell. Samuel was lying down in a shaded corner of the cell. Thankfully the prison was kept at room temperature so they didn’t have to concern themselves with it being too hot or cold for the ill man.

Samuel’s eyes were closed as Shiro quietly came close, believing him to be asleep. With a deep breath his eyes opened and he focused on Shiro with clarity. “Hello, Shiro, how are you today?”

Shiro returned the warm smile, “I’m fine, but I’m more worried about you.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Melmar is taking care of me,” Samuel pushed himself up on his elbows, but with a lot of effort. Shiro was quickly by his side helping to prop his back against the wall. The older man sat still for a moment, possibly dizzy from the exertion. “Where is Matt?”

“He’s looking around,” Shiro said taking a seat next to Samuel. “Are you thirsty? I can see about getting some water.”

Samuel shook his head, “No, thank you. I need to take this chance to speak with you alone.” Shiro noticed how painfully thin he had become during their weeks of captivity. The prison garb which had fitted him perfectly before was now hanging off his thin frame. “I’m not going to be around much longer . . .”

Of course, Melmar would tell Samuel his prognosis in private before telling them. He was likely given permission by Samuel to inform them before he came outl. “Sir, don’t . . .”

“It’s alright,” Samuel raised a withered hand halting Shiro’s objection with a kind smile, “These last few weeks I’ve been having the time of my life. I’ve spoken with so many aliens and learned of their different cultures, their sciences, philosophy, and biology. Other than our time with the Druids, I regret nothing.”

“Sir, please, don’t . . .”

“Shiro, promise me you’ll look after Matt. He’s a brilliant boy and he’s stronger than he thinks, he just has to discover it for himself. He takes after his mother and sister.  Oh, if she was here, she would have discovered five different ways of breaking us out,” Samuel had a sly smile, thinking of his daughter.  “If you two should make it home, tell my wife and daughter I’m sorry. I got so invested in the mission that I neglected them those last few months. If I had known I wouldn’t be returning to Earth, I would have spent more time with them.”

“Pardon me, sir, but I think if either of us knew what was going to happen on the mission, then none of us would have went,”  Shiro said with a wry grin.

They shared a short laugh which ended in a coughing fit for Samuel. He was nearly bent double heaving while Shiro supported him. When he was able to breath properly, he leaned against the wall and drew a deep breath with his eyes closed. “I think I’ll rest a bit more for today, Shiro. Please, check on Matt.”

“I don’t want to leave you alone, sir.”

“I don’t think anyone is going to bother with a dying old man, son.”

After making sure Samuel was comfortable, Shiro left the cell and scanned the area for Matt. Thankfully, he saw Matt right away, crouch in a corner watching a game of dice being played. The players were of different species of various shapes and sizes. A plump alien resembling an brown orangutan, with a pot belly and long arms threw a handful of dice against the wall. The dice had different multiple sizes and colors with numbers ranging from simple dots to elegant characters.

When the dice bounced against the wall and scattered into colorful blurring balls, the aliens leaned in to see the results. Some threw up their hands, claws, and tentacles in celebration while others groan in dismay and watched their bids being grabbed from the pot. The prisoners didn’t have anything in form of currency, but they traded, stole, and bet what they could. Shiro watched the assortment of knick-knacks being separated: a smooth colorful rock, a writing stylus, a small pouch containing a pinch of narcotic powder, and what looked like a spork.

The pot belly alien collected his dice with a sweep of a shovel like hand and rattled them in his palm. “Second Chop, Three on the Piggin, who’s up?”

Shiro had no idea what that meant, but the aliens were already laying out their bets. The pot belly alien noticed Shiro and gave him a leer with a large toothy grin that a chimpanzee back home would have been proud of. “How’s ‘bout you, Shiro? You got any wagers?”

Shiro knew better than to take chances gambling in this prison, or the same could be said for any prison. Prisoners who couldn’t cover their debt ended up paying it back through servitude or sexual favors. From the wistful looks that had come their way since their arrival, Shiro had made certain that Matt understood never to get involved with any games or bets.

Shaking his head, he motioned for Matt to come with him. “Not this time, Odon, maybe next time.”

Odon had been one of the first curious aliens to greet them upon their arrival. At first, the three of them kept their distance in their cell, protective of Samuel who was severely weaken after their ordeals with the Druids. Shiro was getting nervous, wondering if he had the strength to protect them if they were attacked.

It was Odon who knuckled into their cell and broke the ice when he looked at Matt and said, “Oy, you, you ended up here cuz you went out in a dress and when a Galra officer felt you up, he found your dingle?”

Matt’s face turned bright red, “W-what!? NO!”

“And you,” Odon switch to Shiro, “You diddled with an officer’s daughter, didn’t you?”

Shiro held a hand towards a blustering Matt, understanding the game that was being played. “No, I diddled his wife. What about you? Your face offended them so much they locked you up for it?”

“Nah,” Odon said with a broad toothy grin that stretched across his whole face. “I got framed for being a smartarse, seems they finally caught the culprit, am I right?”

Just like that, the building tension eased with laughs and a few snide remarks thrown. Since then Odon had been a staple of their prison block and a fountain of advice on how to survive. He told them of what prisoners to be wary of, who can be trusted and who not to trust, which guards will look the other way and which ones were dangerous and sadistic.

The last several weeks, they had managed to get by without incidence, save for when a larger alien had tried to pull Matt into a cell. Shiro had been close by and was on him within seconds. The fight had been short and mostly one sided as the alien hadn’t expected to be attacked so brutally by a smaller opponent. After that, word spread of Shiro’s combat skill and since then the aliens gave their cell a wide berth.

Matt looked guilty when he said “Sorry I lost it back there. I can’t lose my Dad, not after everything we’ve been through.”

“We won’t. We’ll manage somehow - ”

He was cut off when a siren rent the air. It was a signal for prisoners to get back in their cells before the floors were electrified within one minute. The gambling circle scattered like roaches when the kitchen lights come on. Both Shiro and Matt sprinted back into the cell. Samuel was fast asleep, undisturbed by the ringing siren.

Then barely seconds after they got inside, the door slid shut with a bang. The air outside crackled with electricity and followed by the screams of those too slow to get back to their cells in time. Shiro sagged against the wall and lowered himself onto the floor, quite ready to take a nap himself, but noticed Matt lingering at the door with his ear pressed against it.

“What is it?”

Matt pressed a finger to his lips and kept listening. After several minutes, he said, “Something’s happening. I think they’re going from cell to cell.”

“Why?”

Matt listened again. “They’re getting closer,” then his eyes widen, “I think they’re taking prisoners!”

“Come away from there!”

They waited with the tension and anxiety mounting as Shiro was able to hear the noise from where he stood. There were struggles, protests, and shouts in different alien languages and these were quickly silenced with a blow or sizzle of a hot rod. Matt huddled over his father while Shiro shielded them with hands clenched at is sides. Heavy footsteps echo outside and then halted in front of their cell. The door opened revealing several sentries and the warden.

They had seen the warden once before and it hadn’t been a pleasant experience. He was solidly built with thick arms ending in short, blunt fingers, devoid of the usual claws of his kind. A long scar bisected his face from the edge of a square jaw to the opposite temple. He was hairless save for a strip of shaved hair in a mohawk style.

He pointed with a blunt finger in Shiro’s direction. “That’s the one I’ve told you about.”

Beside him was a smaller Galra tapping away in on a tablet. He had a slim frame with thin bones and a gray bodysuit that screamed he worked in administration. He gave Shiro a cursory glimpse and then resumed tapping away. “Collect him.”

“Wait!” Shiro backpedal as the sentries stalked into the cell, stun guns on him. “What’s going on?”

They didn’t answer him. The sentries took him by the arms and shackled his wrists. Shiro considered fighting back, but not in this cell with Matt and his father within firing range. The robotic hands, so advanced they moved as naturally as real hands, left bruises on his arms as they took him from the cell.

“That one too,” the warden pointed at Matt.

“Me? What?” Matt pipped, crouching low next to his father who had remained in a deep sleep this whole time.

“Where are you taking us?” Shiro demanded, but was only rewarded with a sharp prod in the back.

A raspy voice called from the far cell, “Sorry, boys, looks like you’re going to the arena.”

It was Odon. Shiro could see his watery eyes peering at him through a cell peek hole across from them. They didn’t carry their usual mirth or leer, but full of sympathy which was odd for the usually cool Odon. It was as if Odon had dropped a large stone in Shiro’s stomach. He had been told about the arena, how sometimes when the prison is overcrowded, prisoners would be taken to compete in the games, death matches, held to entertain the masses, renown as a favorite past time of the Emperor.

“No,” he whispered as it sunk in of what was going to happen to them. “Please, not him. Matt can’t - ” Another sharp jab, nearly hard enough to crack ribs had him arch his back in pain.

“What about the sleeping one?” The administrator inquired with a nod towards Samuel.

The warden shook his head, “No, he’s too weak. Wouldn’t be able to walk out onto the arena much less pick up a weapon. I’ve already listed him to go a work camp.”

Matt’s face turned ashen and Shiro felt as if he was drowning. Work camps was another thing they learned of from Odon and other prisoners who had endured the deplorable conditions of Galra run labor mills. Barely enough food and water to keep them alive to carry out the back breaking labor and beaten for any signs of slacking off or slowing. Sending Samuel to such a place in his condition would surely kill him.

Shiro and Matt were shoved to stand in line with the other unlucky prisoners chosen for the arena. Some were facing their new reality bravely while some were breaking down in pleas and sobs which were quickly silenced with a butt of a gun.

From the corner of Shiro’s eye, he noticed a pointy snout protruding from a hole of a cell. The black nose on the tip was twitching, getting his attention until it was replaced by Melmar’s eyes peering out at him. Shiro could only suppose that a cellmate was holding up or he was standing on someone’s shoulders to get eye level with the slot.

“I’m going to a work camp too. If we go together, I’ll do what I can for him,” Melmar promised.

A feather of relief eased Shiro’s burden slightly. He nodded in thanks for the kind gesture. “Thank you, Melmar.”

Then they were shuffled off with the rest of the prisoners onto a waiting shuttle to be taken to the Heart of the Empire.

* * *

_ Another wave of pain swept over him and Shiro had no idea if it was physical or emotional pain he was experiencing. He had lost Samuel to some unknown fate in the work camps and though he had managed to keep Matt out of the arena, he couldn’t be certain if he had gone to join his father in the work camp or sent elsewhere. Nor could he be sure they were even still alive. _

_ Earth was ensnared in the Empire now too and he feared Bridget was keeping things from him of what was really going on there. And what was really happening to her when she wasn’t with him. She stayed silent about it, dismissive of any questions and downplayed any fresh scratches with a smile. Then he noticed the bite on her shoulder. _

_ * * * _

After they had drawn up and memorized another map of the station, Bridget cleaned up the room. She took the sheets and threw them down the laundry shoot, steadfastly wiped down the table they used to draw the map until there was no sticky residue on it, then she washed their cups. It was a ritual he had become accustomed and he had the feeling it was a coping mechanism, a habit formed by abuse victims as it gave them some modicum of control over something in their environment.

She was wearing a shawl around her shoulders that she kept on despite the warm temperature of the room, even when she drew the map in the sticky coffee, she held it against herself and out of the way of the table and coffee. It was when she was washing the cups, as she had to raise her arms up to reach the high sink, he noticed the angry inflamed skin at the edge of her neck, almost hidden by the shawl.

“Bridget, what’s that?”

“What?” She turned around, a wet cup in hand.

He touched his neck to show what he was indicating. “Were you hurt?”

She hastily shrugged the shawl in place. “It’s nothing, but a rash. I’m having an allergic reaction to an alien lotion. Don’t worry about it.”

It was hard to imagine they would let a Courtesan go out with a rash and from the way she wouldn’t look at him told him that it was more than that. A lot more. He wordless stood and walked to her and tugged the shawl aside before she could react. He sucked in air through his nose in shock. On her shoulder was a ring of slightly bleeding marks encircled by red and bruised skin.

Bridget whirled around, pulling the shawl back into the place, wincing when she accidentally put too much pressure on the inflamed skin. “It’s nothing . . .”

“No, it’s not,” Shiro said as he pulled the shawl away despite her resisting hand. “You were bit! Why?”

She turned around, her eyes tearfully defiant, “Why do you think?”

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from cursing. “Sit down. It needs to be washed and treated.”

“It already has been,” she said dismissively.

“With antiseptic gel?”

“Yes.”

“Who cleaned it? You?”

“No, Takor.”

“So he carries around antiseptic gel around for whenever you get bit?”

She stayed silent, resolutely resumed cleaning and rinsing the cup before setting it down on a towel to air dry. Shiro felt bile rise in his throat at the implication. She had been injured before; enough times for Takor to carry around antiseptic gel for whenever it happened.

He breathed through his nose and let it out slowly through the mouth. “Let me put a wet cloth on it. It’ll ease the swelling.”

Bridget was quiet, but she acquiesce to it. She sat on a chair, he stood behind her tenderly dabbing at the bite with a wet cold cloth. The more he stared at it, the angrier it made him. This wasn’t just some love nip that was too rough, but a full open mouth bite. He wanted to know how and why this happened, but knew that pressing her would make the matter worse.

Her shoulders jumped when he laid the cloth over the bite. “Sorry, did I hurt you?”

“No,” her voice broke into a soft sob. “I didn’t want you to see it.”

“It’s alright,” he said softly.

“No, it’s not. I don’t want you to think that . . . I’m a freak.”  Her head was bow low, her hair hanging over her shoulders as if in another bid to hide the bite.

“Why would I think that?”

Bridget wiped her eyes with her fingertips. “Because I let them do these things to me . . .”

“No! Bridget, you don’t have a choice . . .”

“You don’t understand!” Bridget shook her head, tears flowing down her cheeks. “I let them do it! I never told you about the drug trials.”

“What do you mean?”

Bridget sniffed and stayed silent for a long time before she brushed the hair away from the back of her neck revealing the backside of the dark slave collar she wore. For the first time, he noticed the green vial inset into the thick band of the collar. It was a sickly green color that made him feel disconcerted to see it.

Bridget touched it with a finger in a near caress before drawing her hand away from it in revulsion. “It’s a cocktail of euphoric drugs and aphrodisiacs. Whenever I close to a Galra the collar pumps me with drugs to make me aroused and if I start to get scared or uncomfortable, the collar makes me feel good and happy so I don’t struggle - so I do what they want.”

Shiro closed his eyes not wanting to hear and a fresh wave of revulsion swept over him for the Galra cruelties. “You could have told me, Bridget,” he said softly.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t want you to know . . . I was afraid you’d wouldn’t understand, that you would think I enjoy this.”

“No, never,” he told her.

“Some days, I don’t even recognize myself. I’m thinking thoughts that I never would have considered back on Earth. I’ve done things I would never have done before . . .” Bridget broke off in a soft sob. Her shoulders shook beneath his hands as she covered her eyes.

“It’s alright. We’re in dangerous territory, both enslaved, we’ve both had to change to survive. We would be killed otherwise.”

Bridget continue crying bitterly. This was the first time he has seen her cry since they met. Then he moved around and knelt before her, taking her hand in his cybernetic one. He drew the thumb over her fingers, letting her feel the unnaturally warm metal.

“They replaced my arm with this,” he said letting her feet the smooth metal and hear the small whirs within when he moved his thumb. “It wasn’t injured at all. The Druids had me taken to their labs and put me under. When I came to my arm was gone and this was in its place.”

“Can you feel anything?” She asked touching the black fingers and white palm.

“I feel sensations, but I think its phantom limb. It’s a bit stronger than my other hand and it can take a hit.  It saved my ass several times in the arena.” Then he moved her hand to touch the scar in the center of his face. “I got this while I was being whipped.”

Bridget’s eyes widen with a gasp. “Why?”

“I attacked a guard for assaulting a prisoner. I was given thirty lashes and half way through it, I turned my head and the whip caught me across the face.”

“Oh, Shiro . . .”

Then he laid her head over the white shock of hair that lay over his brow. “I’m not sure how I got this, but I know the Druids did it. They took me to their labs again and they did things to me I barely remember.  What I do remember is that whatever they did made me scream.”

He lowered her hand onto her lap. “Bridget, they’ve done things to me too. They made me do things I would never have willingly done on my own. When I met you, I was afraid you’d think me a murderer, but you didn’t and I was so grateful for that. Please, don’t ever think I would think less of you for what was done to you.”

Bridget closed her eyes, a small relieved smile on her trembling lips. “Thank you, Shiro.”

“And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried earlier about your shoulder, especially when it made you so uncomfortable. If there’s anything I can do to help you, please, tell me.”

Bridget swallowed and nodded, “I think you did just help me now.”

* * *

_ And how can he continue to help her if he died now? How can he find Matt and Samuel if he passed away? How can he return to Keith if he perished here now? _

_ He wanted to let go, to just embrace that inviting darkness that promised escape from all of it, but others needed him more. Others needed him to hold on. _

_ There was a voice. Someone was speaking to him. _

Shiro? Can you hear me? Open your eyes if you can.”

_ It was a distant. A woman’s voice. It came to him in deep echos like from the bottom of a cavernous pit. He recognized it. Light glared into his eyes when he opened them. He couldn’t focus. All he saw was colors dominated by a large corina of flame that wave as the voice spoke. _

Thank you, God, he’s still alive. Bunto, you have to stay here and keep them away from him. Do not let them take him to the incinerator. I’m going to get help.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be Bridget trying to save Shiro.
> 
> Comments or Kudos is much appreciated. 
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr through RebelCourtesan muse blog.


	15. Jodi

The room was like a doctor’s office, like in the movies where the main characters are about to get bad news, but instead of a generic doctor in white coat with thick glasses, it was a tall alien woman sitting behind the desk. The office was white with pale décor which look pristine and clean.

I thought these aliens liked purple and black. Even the Galra sitting behind the desk was wearing a white uniform. Maybe it was to instill a sense of security and cleanliness here, maybe the white was an indication of paradise or heaven to incite trust, or hell, maybe the woman behind the counter just like the color.

The Galra wore her long dark hair in thin plaits that hung down her shoulders in small beads that sang together whenever she moved her head. Her lips were a sensual burgundy shade, showing off incredibly white teeth with long canines set in an angular face with high cheekbones like some African goddess.

“I want to ask you one thing,” she said in the manner of a principal speaking to a wayward student. “Why do you wish to give yourself to the Empire?”

I picked at the edge of the scruffy sleeves of my ugly orange sweater. My jeans had seen better days with the knees in tatters showing off my caramel skin. The chair was so large I was able to sit easily with my legs folded beneath me.

“I’m hungry,” I said simply.

“You’re hungry?” The woman raised a magenta eyebrow.

“I’m always hungry,” I said, shoving my hands into my pockets.

“I see,” she picked up a stylus and twirled it thoughtfully between her long clawed fingers. “And that’s it? Just because you’re hungry? What else?”

I shrugged. “What else is there? I don’t have any family or a job, and I’m homeless. So slavery is looking pretty good because what else do I have to look forward to other than finding unspoiled food in a dumpster?”

The Galra woman set her stylus down and scooted a datapad across the desk. She tapped a few keys on the interface and said, “You aren’t the first person to give up their citizenship to escape poverty and hunger, however slavery to the Empire has its own challenges. You’ll have no freedom, no say in where you’ll go or what you’ll do. If you obey and perform well, then your Master will keep you fed, but he or she can and will punish you as they see fit for any misdeeds or failures. It can be anything from missing meals to beatings.”

Again, I shrugged. “I’m no stranger to beatings.”

She learned forward, perching her pointy chin on the back of one hand. “What if your Master wants to have sex with you? It will be within their rights to do with you as they wishes, even requesting sexual favors.”

I was quiet for a long before I answered. “I’ll do whatever they want, even if it hurts.”

She smiled kindly at me, like a nurse trying to reassure you before giving you a painful shot. “What skills do you offer?”

“The basics, I guess.  Clean houses, wash clothes, sweep and mop floors, and watch kids.  I’m no chef, but I can cook a decent meal.”

“We can supplement those skills with training.  You may find a place in a hotel or service station,” she said tapping away at the keys. “Does the thought of being taken off Earth frighten you? You’ll likely never return to this planet.”

I shook my head, “No. There’s nothing here for me.”

She stopped typing and turned the tablet around before sliding it across the desk with a stylus across it. Then she laid her large hand over the bottom part, blocking where my signature should go. She stood up, leaning over her desk to speak directly to me.  Her voice lost its light polite inflection and it took on a heavy tone.  

“Before you sign away your citizenship, let me explain what is going to happen to you as soon as you sign. You’ll become property of the Empire. Two sentries will come in, shackle you, and take you to the sanitarium where you’ll be deloused and tested for diseases, then you’ll be taken to a cell where you’ll be kept and trained until auction.”

I nodded, “I understand.”

“Not yet you do,” she said firmly. “If you fight or struggle, you’ll be punished. Disobedience will be dealt with severely and if you prove yourself to be unreliable as a domestic slave, then you will be sent to a work camp and, believe me, you do not want that. So think very carefully before you sign. If you have any second thoughts or doubts about this, then walk away now while you still can.”

I stared at the datapad beneath her hand, at the Galra script with small printed English beneath it, translating the text. It said pretty much everything she told me. Upon my signature, I was a slave of the Empire with no rights until my master chooses to pay the fees to get me register as a citizen again.

My mind was already made up. It was made up for me when I climbed into a dumpster to eat the remains of a half eaten sandwich a rat had already chewed on. I was going to die on the streets and it wouldn’t be a quick death. It was already slowly killing me. There were no government handouts nor shelters anymore. I had spent the night in the rain beneath a layer of cardboard and trash bags. And I had done things that had costed my pride in order to survive.

I only had one question regarding signing the contract.

“How long after I sign do I get to eat?”

She took her hand away with a satisfied smile, “Soon.”

I leaned forward and signed away my citizenship. I didn’t feel anything as my signature glowed at me on the black backdrop of the contract. The slave broker, took the datapad, gave it a cursory glance to make certain my signature was in the right spot, and placed it on top of a stack of datapads, where other people had signed away their freedom.

Then she summoned the sentries beyond the door. One of them carried a set of shackles. “Welcome to the Empire, Jodi.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments or Kudos is much appreciated. 
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr through RebelCourtesan muse blog.


	16. Katie, Haxus, Lance

Katie didn’t get the sleep she very much needed. She had spent the night consoling a devastated Sammi who kept clutching her belly as if she had been stabbed in the gut and bemoaning of what she should do.

“I can’t have it! I can’t! My mom doesn’t even know about it! I’ve only told you!”

“I don’t know what you can do,” Katie said quietly, afraid that Sammi would wake up her mother with her cries. “Did you talk to Dr. Michel?”

Sammi shook her head so furiously, her blonde hair flew of her shoulders. “I can’t! What’s he going to do? He can’t abort it! He’s just a family doctor, not an abortionist!”

“Maybe he can give you some medicine that can take care of it?”

“I tried that!” Sammi wailed wringing her hands. “I thought I was gonna die and I’m still pregnant!”

“Shhh, Sammi, calm down.”

“I can’t! I’ve been keeping it in for so long,” Sammi moaned. “What if it eats it way out of me? Like in that Alien movie?”

Katie looked at Sammi’s stomach. “Wait, how long ago were you . . .uh . . .attacked?”

“Six weeks ago,” Sammi muttered, wiping her eyes on her sleeve.

“And you’re showing already? Maybe it's not his?”

Then Sammi rounded on her with eyes blazing, “Excuse me?”

Katie held up her hands to show she meant no harm, “Sammi, didn’t you have a boyfriend before? Maybe it's his and not the Galra’s?”

Sammi stood up with her hands on her hips, her face bright red, “Despite what you may have thought of me before ‘this’,” she pointed at her belly, “but I don’t sleep around. I will swear on a stack of Bibles or whatever Holy Moly text you wanna put in front of me that I was a virgin before that asshole got ahold of me! It’s his! No one else’s!”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Katie said trying to sound soothingly. “I didn’t mean it. I was just trying to help. This whole thing just took me by surprise.”

“How do you think I’ve been feeling for the last several weeks?” Sammi said deflating as her anger ebbed away. “I don’t know what to do. Mom’d sooner kick me out before watching me give birth to one of those things. If only there was an abortionist I could go to.”

“Sammi, there’s no guarantee that an abortionist can do anything,” Katie said wringing her hands. “It’s an alien baby. A doctor might not be able to do anything about it. You might just have to have it and then leave on the Galra’s doorstep.”

“No way!” Sammi snapped. “I am not having this kid. I refuse to give birth to one of them. I refuse to increase their numbers by one. I want this thing out of me, pronto.”

And so it went in circles until finally Sammi wore herself out and fell asleep sobbing on Katie’s lap. Katie didn’t think it kind to wake up a tormented Sammi just so she could lay down and get a couple of hours of sleep. Instead she collected her thoughts.

She wondered how much information the chip siphoned for the rebels. Would what she gone through be considered a success? It would have to be, there was no way she could go back there now. And what would the fallout be? Already, the Galra had increased taxes and stepped up patrols in town. What would they do now that they had evidence of a spy? The thought was very unsettling.

Most disconcerting was how close she had came to finding her family. Did unknown mean that Matt was alive and, more elating, escaped from the Galra? And as for her father, was Pelar the name of a star system, planet, a city, or a station? If only she had a few more minutes, she could have found out exactly where these places were.

But then the biggest question of all was how she was going to get to them? If she wanted a chance to find her family, then she would have to commandeer a Galra ship and that brought a whole plate of complications and dangers.

Then there was the burden of Sammi’s pregnancy. Was she telling the truth about being a virgin when she was attacked? She seems so certain it was the Galra’s and not her boyfriend’s.  Why did she decide that Katie was the one to come to with this? Why not Jenny or Dr. Michel? They were more equipped on how to handle this than she. Go to Katie Holt if your computer on the fritz, the kids at school would say and even the teachers would call her from glass to help set up educational equipment in time for demonstrations. She could handle computers, programs, viruses, etc, but when it came to unwanted pregnancies, she was out of her debt. But for now, she can at least keep Sammi’s secret.

She managed to doze off lying at an odd angle against the pillows with Sammi passed out across her lap. When she woke up a few hours later, she would still be exhausted, sore, and with an ache in her back and shoulders.  At least she was able to get  _ some  _ sleep.  

***

Haxus wouldn’t be getting any sleep for the foreseeable future. He harried the medic through first aid and forewent strong pain killers to keep his head clear.  His hand and shoulder throbbed painfully each time he moved. He took a transport to the scene and much to his indignation, Thace was already there overseeing the dig.

Two hours ago, a patrol noticed a wild dog eating what they assumed was a small animal carcass. Upon shining a light on the animal, they noticed it was violet arm, a Galra limb. After reporting their finding, the patrollers investigated the area and located a disturbed mound, freshly dug by a pack of wild dogs and notified HQ. A team of PeaceKeepers were sent out to investigate and uncovered what appeared to be dismembered bodies of three Galra. Identities were confirmed through DNA analysis that these were the three missing Galra.

When Haxus arrived, the PeaceKeepers were separating the parts into three separate stretchers. Drones floated overhead casting bright lights into the ever growing hole as the investigators dug deeper to retrieve more parts. When Haxus opened the vehicle door, he gagged as the fetid air assaulted his sensitive nose. With watering eyes, he took a second to collect himself and then proceeded to the hole, determine not to show weakness against the onslaught of rotting bodies had on his olfactory.

Thace was standing a few yard away from the hole, speaking quietly with a PeaceKeeper, his ears tilted slightly back in an affirmation of his disquiet. The soldiers who made the find were standing well away while the investigators wore their masks that blocked out dangerous gases and foul smells. Thace had such a mask which gleam like a black beetle in the drone lights. He made a motion and an investigation scurried up to offer Haxus the same accommodation. Haxus wrench the mask from the attendant and pressed it over his mouth and nose. There was a soft hiss as the air was exuded through the vents on either side of the mask and then the air he drew was filtered into odorless clean air.

He stalked to Thace’s side in an air of indignation. “This is my investigation,” he muttered stiffly.

“Your investigation is happening inside my District,” Thace replied smoothly as the surface of a knife. “My position dictates that I be present whenever a body is found and we have three here.”

“You’ll get a report of my findings . . .”

“I already have some interesting information for you,” Thace said as smoothly as the blade of a knife. “Mind, these are just the preliminary findings, until they finish collecting the remains and the medical examiner goes over them. The bodies are in different stages of decomposition, but they each died at least a week apart. Two of the bodies were buried deep, but the third was buried only a few feet.  Likely, the wildlife smelled the remains and dug it up.”

Haxus sniffed behind his mask, “Whoever buried the third body wasn’t as careful as the one who buried the first two.”

“Or perhaps they had plenty of time to take their time with the burying first two and was rushed with the third,” Thace offered staring somberly at the digsite.

Haxus scoffed, “No. The last was a botched job. If they were in a hurry to dispose of a body, it would have been prudent to hide the body and then dispose of it later with more care.”

Thace considered this and nodded, “It makes sense. So we are dealing with at least two culprits.”

“Likely more,” Haxus closed his eyes, feeling a moment of fatigue shroud him. He brushed it off, refusing to show any sign of weakness in front of Thace. “They were bold enough to take three Galra without them raising an alarm. Rebels?”

Thace wrinkled his nose, his ears twitching at the word. “They are the most likely culprits, but this doesn’t smell like them. Usually, rebels advertise their actions to get the humans to rise up and intimidate our men. This was too secretive; the bodies would never have been found if it wasn’t for the carelessness.”

“Unless the rebels questioning them in secret?  Not wanting us to know they carried sensitive intel?” Haxus watched as one investigator lifted a bone from the impacted dirt and rock. “Take off a part for each unanswered question?”

“Gristly, but effective, but no, I don’t believe so.  If it was information they wanted, then it would be you or me they would have taken.  These men were just foot soldiers.  Any information they had wouldn’t be worth this much risk.” Thace looked in Haxus, at the bandaged shoulder and hand. “Has our men found anything at the factory?”

“They’re still scanning the area. It’ll take a while before they find anything,” Haxus said in a low voice. “The little rat was careful, but they’ll find something and then I’ll return the favor.” He raised his thickly bandaged hand and clenched it. Pain lanced through his hand and arm, but it only serve to heighten his drive to right this wrong in the Universe.

“Wouldn’t you rather be asleep right now with a dose of painkillers?”

Haxus shot Thace a foul look. “I’m a soldier of the Empire. Pain will not keep me from the honor of serving it.”

The retrieval took five hours. Haxus remained after Thace left to attend to other duties. They both agreed to keep the news of the find quiet until they knew more to prevent tipping off the culprits. Thace took the patrolling soldiers with them for briefing with orders to not speak of what they had found.

It galled him to have to share information with another, especially a demoted lieutenant. This could be an opportunity for Thace to save face by solving a murders and destroying a rebel cell. He would have to be careful not to give him that chance.

***

Lance was wishing he could go back to sleep and not be sitting on a rock shivering less than a few miles from the district walls. He envied Hunk who was still asleep upstairs in Margery’s ranch house and saved from the burden of knowing.

Lance pulled his jacket closed to keep out the chill of the desert night and waited with the radio in hand. During his last check in, he had forewent reporting the disaster at  _ Bruisers _ . The briefing had been succinct and he confirmed contacting Sandy. After that, Iverson inquired if he met any other familiar faces from Galaxy Garrison.

Lance hesitated before denying seeing anyone. The better part of his mind chastise him. The rebels could use every man they could get and with Keith’s skills, he would be a boon for their side. The worst part of him said that Iverson would have Keith take over the mission if he was brought into the fold.  And somewhere, at the back of his mind, a pragmatic part of his mind told him that Keith would be the best choice to head this mission. The guy was always cool under pressure and, though impulsive, was resourceful and skilled. He wouldn’t be sweating about Margery Kayla, the order to kill Hunk if they were caught, and out here catching a cold waiting for orders.

When the radio crackled to life, Lance fumbled with it, nearly dropping it. He managed to catch it with both hands and held it close to his mouth.

“The Cow Jumped. Over” Iverson’s voice flared from the speaker.

“Over the Moon. Over” Lance finished.

It was key phrase to indicate he had the radio and wasn’t speaking under duress. If he was, then the code would be ‘Over the Fence’. Then false information would be given to buy time for the rebels to clear from their hiding place.

“Report.  Over.”

“Everything is well. Our cover remains secure. Over”

There was a bit of static, then Iverson voice screeched a bit, “Data mining was interrupted. Have Pidge continue digging for data. Over”

Finally, something to do after days of sitting on his ass. “Roger.  Over”

“Maintain cover in the meantime. Stay out of trouble and do not draw attention, cadet. Over.” Iverson’s orders came out in a staticky growl.

A shiver ran down Lance’s spin. Did he know about what had happened at the bar? Shit, Sandy was there, she would have reported it. “Wilco.”

***

As the sun drifted lazy light in Sammi’s bedroom, Katie examined her reflection in the mirror and knew she couldn’t go into work looking like this. Not only did she look as if hadn’t sleep in a week, her body ached more than it did last night. She couldn’t move without her back protesting and her ribs refused to let her take full breaths.

As tempting it would be to go to the clinic where Dr. Michel could treat her and give her stronger pain medicine than Tylenol, there would be questions of how she got hurt and word of it could get back to her mother. Yet, if she took the day off, her mother would want to know why she didn’t go to work.  Katie moaned, disgusted by her situation and looked longingly at Sammi’s bed. If only just to curl up in those sheets and just slip into sweet, sweet slumber.

Sammi was annoyingly chipper this morning despite her near breakdown last night. She bounded in with a plate of toast and eggs and a glass of juice, dressed with a heavy sweat shirt to hide her swelling belly. “Morning! I brought breakfast!”

Katie eyed the food hungrily, suddenly feeling more awake. “Your mom doesn’t know I’m here, right?”

“Nope, didn’t tell her a thing. She was in a hurry to leave anyway,” Sammi set the plate and glass on her dresser and motion for Katie to dig in. “I think she has a boyfriend somewhere.”

“Sammi, I’m not going to be able to make it to work today. I’m not feeling so good.” Which was true, Katie thought feeling like she was run over by a truck.

Sammi looked dismayed, “But what about the checkpoint? What if I see . . .him?”

Katie was about to bite into a piece of toast when she paused. “We only saw him that one time.”

“But he might be there again,” Sammi whined. “Can’t you go with me past the checkpoint at least?”

“Sammi, I can’t. I’m about to pass out.”  And there might possibly by a wide scale manhunt for her.   

Sammi looked as if she was about to protest, but she crossed her arms and nodded, as if coming to a decision. “Fine. I can make it on my own. I’m not scared . . . well, maybe a little, but I’ll deal with it.”

“Good, and would it be alright if I crash here for the day?”

“Sure, but don’t you want to go home?”

“Uh,” Katie hesitated and decided to divulge the fight she had with mom to Sammi since she had been so forthcoming about her pregnancy, even though Katie would rather not know.

Sammi instantly understood and thought no more of it.  “I had bad fights with my mom too.  One time I had to stay with a friend for a week she was so mad at me.”

Once Sammi left for the clinic, Katie finished eating, took a warm shower to ease the soreness in her body, and went back to bed and slept until noon. When she arose, she was surprised by how rejuvenated she felt, but yet even more sore than before she went to sleep. She stretched out the soreness and raided Sammi’s medicine cabinet for aspirin. Her back was an expanse of purple and black and her leg fared little better. At least she could breath a bit easier.

After tying her hair back, she donned a hoodie on loan by Sammi and to the school’s playground.

***

Haxus only managed to get two hours of sleep before he was alerted an hour before noon by Vix. The investigators scanning the factory had finally found something. After sending a drone to scan the vent, it had located a writing pen with a crude, but effect sensor scrambler installed.

“So that explains how she smuggled her tools in without arousing suspicion.” Haxus stumbled from the bed, treading on his boots he had kicked off before falling into bed hours ago. He ordered the lights on and wince when the lights came on to full brightness, hurting his eyes. After ordering them dimmed, he made his way to a small kitchen area.

His quarters were small, barely offering the privileges an officer such as his self was accustomed to. There was drink dispenser and not much else for a kitchen save for counter and uneven stool. He filled a cup with water and downed it with three painkillers. They were more than the recommended dosage, but the pain was distracting him so much he didn’t realize Vix was still speaking frantically into his ear.

“Repeat,” Haxus said bringing his wrist telecomm closer to his face. “There was a disturbance in the signal.”

“Sir, the pen, we know where it came from. Dr. Michel’s Clinic.”

Haxus hasten to collect his boots. “Send me a list of the employees and patients.”

“Already sent, sir, though I did a quick scan for young female humans and only two matches came up.”

With the boots clutched in one hand, he moved to the terminal and switched it one. He pulled them on as it booted up and grimaced when his wounded hand hampered his movements. With one hand he accessed the message and the attached file.

Two images popped up side by side. The first was a dark hair human with blue eyes and the second was small with long brown hair, the same shade as the slip of hair disappearing into the vent.

“The brown one. I want a name.”

“Katie Holt, sir.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments or Kudos is much appreciated. 
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr through RebelCourtesan muse blog.


	17. Bridget

My blue eyed escort was waiting outside the private box inspecting his claws. He watched me curiously as I walked past him. 

“He’s finished with you already?” He said disbelievingly and follow me down the hall.

“He’s taking a nap,” I said shouldering my sleeve. I had poured his wine with a little something extra added and I was only half undressed by the time it took effect. He was back in the private box laid back in his seat in a sound sleep; the  _ somnum  _ had done its work well.

I hurried to elevator at the end of a long hall lined with doors leading to private boxes. A wealthy Galra couple, a woman wearing a long gown with skirts sweeping the floor stroll next to a tall man wearing dark formal robes. I saw from the corner my eye, the woman watching me with a disdainful wrinkle of her nose and the man’s eyes lingering on me. Heat filled my stomach. I pushed it down and kept going, knowing it was too early for my collar to invoke arousal in me yet.

Blue Eyes called me to slow down, but I kept going at a fast pace. I kept seeing the long trail of blood left behind as the sentries drug Shiro off the field.  He could still be bleeding and his body was becoming pale and cold from blood loss.  I believed each second was more blood leaving his body and that put urgency in my steps. How much blood can a human lose before they die?

The elevator was open and empty when we arrived. I pressed the button for the bottom floor and moaned in frustration when it didn’t respond. Above the public floors of the auditorium, all the locks and panels were encoded to respond only to Galra biometrics to keep unauthorized non-Galra from sharing the same air as the Elite. I needed Blue Eyes to work the elevator and he was staring at me suspiciously as he came into the elevator.

“I need to go to bottom floor, to the slave pits . . .” I said, knowing full well this wasn’t going to go over well with him.

Blue Eyes raised an eyebrow, “Unless your next patron is down there that’s not going to happen.”

“Shiro – the Champion has been injured and I need to see him.”

He gave a dry laugh, “They don’t accept visitors down there and since you’re done with Lord Trazik we have to go back to Zenana.”

“It’s just detour along the way. My time with Trazik ended early, so they aren’t expecting me back on the shuttle for two hours at the latest. They won’t even notice.”

I couldn’t see his ears, but I believed they would be tilted in a thoughtful angle. Finally, he said, “You don’t want to go down there.”

I saw the chance in his weakening resolve. “I need to see him.” I clasp my hands together in a plea like a begging child. I couldn’t demand to see Shiro, for if I did, then Blue Eyes could feel obligated to put me in my place. But begging was different, begging would make him feel superior, having power over me and sometimes they would give in just to make themselves feel good being charitable and to make the superiority last a bit longer.

He continued to stare and just as I was about to state my case again, he pressed a sigil on the panel taking us to the third floor. “Not the bottom floor. We’ll never get through the crowd. We can get down there quicker from the third floor.”

* * *

When the doors open, the fetid air of the slave pits hit me like a blow. It was a medley of smells of unwashed alien bodies, the acrid stench of urine and feces, and the sour odor of fear and despair. Unprepared for it, I gagged, nearly heaving the wine I had shared with Lord Travik. My eyes began to water and I dared not breathe through my mouth lest I  _ tasted  _ the foulness!

Blue Eyes watched me expectantly from the edge of the door. His doubtful look asked me if I still wanted to go through with this. As terrible as the smell was, I couldn’t allow it to keep me from saving Shiro so I took the first step into the horrible air of the pits.

Blue Eyes was uncharacteristically stern with me when he told me to stay close to him and not to speak to or make eye contact with the prisoners, no matter what they said or did. “You’re just going to encourage them if you do.”

Following him down the first row of cells, I understood two things. Blue Eyes was correct in warning me and the smell was far from the worst thing about the pits. It was the cacophony reverberating throughout the pits, bouncing off metal walls, giving them a haunting melody of pain and terror of those waiting to die a gruesome and violent death for the entertainment of the Galra. I tried not to, but I couldn’t help staring in curious morbid fascination.

In Zenana, I was surrounded by aliens the Galra found attractive and were pleasant to look at. These aliens looked little better than creatures from the imaginations of science fiction and fantasy writers. There were assortment of beaks, muzzles, tentacles, horns, and scales with eyes of all different shapes and they looked back at me with eyes of different shapes and colors, but they all carried the same fearful and hateful gaze. Some of them leaned against the doors and bars yelling at me; for deliverance, to insult me, or beg me for help. I stayed close to Blue Eyes, especially after one alien with a long arm tried to reach me, but the pits were designed to prevent such assault by keeping the cells spaced so if a visitor stayed in the center, then they were well out of reach of any thrashing hands or claws or tentacles.

Blue Eyes led me around a corner then pressed me against the wall, putting his body between me and what was coming. Two sentries were dragging a prisoner across the floor by the ankles. The prisoner was wailing, begging in high screeches I couldn’t understand. I wasn’t able to get a good look at him as Blue Eyes shielded me and thankfully, he had the foresight to do so as the alien was grasping at anything and everything to halt his progress to the arena. He made a grab for Blue Eye’s boots, but was rewarded with a kick to the face for his efforts.

When he disappeared around a corner, screeching all the way, Blue Eyes turned to me. l was still pressed against the wall and he leaned down and spoke into my ear, “Sure you still want to go through with this? It doesn’t get any prettier than this.”

I had been holding my sleeve over my nose, to stifle the smell with the scented cloth. I didn’t move the cloth to speak, lest I get a lungful of the foul air, but nodded, I had to move forward. It weighed heavily on me knowing that this was what Shiro suffering before for two years; the smell, the terror, and the despair. Where I had kept my time with the Galra to myself to spare him, it seemed that he was sparing me also.

Finally, we came to a door that reeked of blood. Inside, I saw a trail of fresh blood across the stained floor to a medical examiner's table with straps for wrists and ankles. Shiro was lying prone, pale and so very still. I rushed to his side, nearly knocking over a short Galra with hair arranged in a tall crew cut.  

“Shiro!” I cried leaning over him laying my hand a hand on his cheek.  I was shocked by how cold his skin felt to the touch. His arm of flesh was broken, twisted at an odd angle and glowing in an ugly shade of purple. The prison bodysuit was soaked with blood from where that bastard Migo had stabbed him. I pressed my hand against it and trembled when I felt indentations of the punctures and more blood seeping from the pressure of my hand. “Shiro! Please, open your eyes.”

He didn’t respond. His face was slack and his mouth slightly open as if he was in a deep sleep and that worried me all the more. I checked his pulse and felt a very weak throb, but it was there.

I rounded on the short Galra. “Why isn’t he being treated!?”

Both of the Galra looked at me as if I started speaking in tongues. Blue Eyes said slowly, as if carefully explaining that fire is hot to a simple minded child, “These are the slave pits. There aren’t any doctors here.”

“But Shiro has been treated for injuries before!” I snapped.

“Yeah, first aid for minor injuries which doesn’t cost much to treat,” Blue Eyes slowly explained, “Fatal injuries aren’t treated, so he has to pull through by himself. You either walk off the arena as a winner or get dragged out as a loser.”

“He won!” I choked, if only to keep myself from screaming my frustration at the Galra logic. “He killed Migo!”

“Yeah, but he got killed too in the end,” the short Galra said mournfully.

“He’s not dead!” I checked his pulse again if only to reassure myself that he still had life in him. “Go get bandages, anything something I can use to stop the bleeding.”

“They aren’t going to let me . . .” the short Galra moaned.

“I don’t care! Go get them right now!”

The little Galra hesitated, but spun on his heel and shot out the doorway announcing, “Another snatch and run for me. Makes me feel like a kid again.”

Blue Eyes was regarding me and Shiro with misgivings about bringing me here and getting involved. “You can’t do this.”

“I am,” I said resolutely.

“Do you know anything about first aid?”

“No, I don’t,” I admittedly stiffly. The irony is that one of my teachers tried to convince me to go to nursing school, saying I had a gift in caregiving, but I turned her down in favor of a teaching degree.

Blue Eyes shook his head, “Look, even if you packed the wound, he still has internal bleeding and damage to his organs that needs a surgeon, that is if a surgeon can still do anything.”

I was flooded with chagrin at myself when I realized what I should have been doing. “I know a surgeon! Ulaz! Call him and tell him to come to the slave pits. He works with Dr. Brin.”

Blue Eyes took a slow breath as if trying to gather his patience to explain something that should be very obvious for me. “I’m not going to do that. He works for Zenana and he can’t just stop whatever he’s doing to come down here to work on a slave without permission from the higher ups. At best, he’ll lose his position or, worst, get arrested if it pisses off the Arena Master.”

Before I could reply, the small Galra reappeared with an armful of medical knick knacks, looking wily and cowed. “One of them threw a scalpel at me.”

When he set the supplies on the edge of the slab next to Shiro I stared helplessly. None of them looked familiar. There was no rolls of bandages I could recognize and the tools were alien with different functions I couldn’t discern since my grasp of the Galra script was too weak to read instructions.

Blue Eyes rolled his eyes, “Stand aside.”

I blinked, “You know first aid?”

“I had a medic teach me so I could patch myself up in case I was ever injured. Thought it would improve my chances until I got transferred to a safer position.” He moved from the doorway to the slab where he selected a small canister. He unscrew a cap to reveal a nozzle. Then, peeling back Shiro’s torn prison garb, he sprayed its contents directly into Shiro’s wounds.  

I recoil as yet more blood, diluted by the cleaning fluid, ran over the edge and on the floor. How much more blood could Shiro could afford to lose? I had an urge to check his pulse again, but didn’t dare get in the way. Then Blue Eyes popped off the lid of another container and sprayed foam into each puncture, filling in the cut skin and stymieing the blood.

Blue Eyes set the canister down on the slab. “I bought him some time, but he’s still dead if a surgeon doesn’t see to him soon.”

I checked his pulse again. It was still there, but I feared it was weaker than last time. “So how do I get a surgeon here?”

“Um, you don’t,” the little Galra piped up from the below our waists. “Sometimes you’ll get a medical student in training to practice on the slaves, but they won’t go near a high profile slave like the Champion. They’ll be here any second to take him to the incinerator.”

The horror seized my chest. “They would do that? Put him in the incinerator when he’s still alive?”

Bunto nodded, “Yeah, usually they’ll wait until the slave’s dead, but sometimes they’re in a hurry . . .”

Panic was rising in my chest and I pushed it down. Panicking wouldn’t help Shiro. “Back to my original question, what do I have to do to get a surgeon to see him?”

“But I just said . . .” the little Galra started, but I cut him off sharply.

“What. Do I have. To do. To get. A surgeon down. Here?” I hissed out through my teeth.

Finally Blue Eyes answered my question. “The Arena Master has to okay it, but he’s not going to do that.”

“Who is the Arena Master?”

“Oh! He’s the guy that runs the arena matches!” the small Galra volunteered.

“I assumed that by the name!”  I snapped rudely.  “I mean, who is he? And where can I find him?”

Before the little Galra could answer, Blue Eyes shook his head and waved his hand as if cutting the air. “Hold it, stop, nope. You aren’t doing any of that nor any of this. You are going back to Zenana where I should have taken you to begin with. You’re going to get me in trouble.”

Before I could tell him I couldn’t care less if I got him killed, the door opened and tall Galra came in tailed by two sentries. He wore a dark uniform with wrist and shin guards. Instead of tufted ears, he had the pointed butterfly ears at the sides of his head with dark skin. He stared at the three of us as if he had no idea what we were and then pointed at the doorway.

“The three of you, out.”

“What are you going to do?” I demanded, parking myself by Shiro’s side.

“We’re here for clean up.”

Stricken, I hastily checked Shiro’s pulse. It was still there, though barely. “You can’t! He’s still alive!”

“Not for much longer, now move.” The sentries came forward, hands raised.

Remembering how they had unceremoniously dragged Shiro’s limp body off the battlefield, I knew their mishandling him again would kill him. I leaned over him, curling my arms around his neck protectively. “No! If you are going to throw him in the incinerator, then I’m going in with him!”

“The door’s big enough for two,” he sneered.

Finally, Blue Eyes spoke up, a hand on the gun at his hip. “Can’t let you do that. She’s Zenana property and they will carve it out of my ass if anything happens to her on my watch.”

Exasperated, the Galra stabbed a finger at me and yelled, “Then do your job and get her under control so I can do mine!”

Then Blue Eyes stepped forward with the full intention of dragging me off Shiro and taking me straight to Zenana. In desperate fast thinking, I snagged the small Galra by the waist. He was heavy, but my adrenaline barely let me notice. With a shock squawk from him, I set him next to Shiro. From the way he had earlier fled for medical supplies, indicated that he must care about what happened to Shiro and wanted to help him and I could only hope that he understood my intent.

He did. He wrapped his arms around Shiro’s leg and held on like a koala bear on a tree limb. “Now’s it’s murder if you throw me in with him!”

The cleaner pinched the bridge of his nose, cursing softly under his breath. “You can be fired for this.”

“Without him, I’m nothin’ anyway! I’m his caretaker and I rather lose my job than go back to hosing out prison cells again!” He said vehemently. “And even if you drag me off, I’ll just jump into the incinerator with him and you’ll have to explain why my gummy insides fouled up the burners.”

The cleaner raised his eyes, not to Blue Eyes, or to the small Galra, but to me.  He said, “Please, stop interfering. You don’t know what it is you are doing.”

I stayed silent, standing near Shiro’s side. I would not budge.

The cleaner looked from me to the other two and then back to me. He held up his hands with finality, “I tried.”

Then he left with the sentries and I was able to breath a sigh of relief, for the moment. I was suddenly grabbed by the arm and pulled away from Shiro. Blue Eyes was at the end of his rope and he wasn’t going to broker anymore from me.

“Let’s go.”

“Wait, just one . . .”

“No! Not one minute, not one tick. You are coming with me right now! You are going to cost me my job!”

“A job of escorting drugged and brainwashed slaves to be used like toys by alien elitist bastards? Your mother must be so proud of you.”

The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. Blue Eyes would be within his rights and jurisdiction to hurt me for insulting him. His hand on my arm squeeze tightly, nearly bruising. His eyes arched at me like fiery blue stars. “Takor did say you were a pain in the ass.”

My blood turned to ice water in my veins at his words and I looked at Shiro, at the bruises on his face and his knee which was nearly swollen three times its size. These were the injuries he didn’t get from his fight with MIgo. They were inflicted  _ before  _ he was taken to the arena.

And I had not seen Takor at all today.

I turned my eyes to the small Galra holding onto Shiro’s leg, ignoring Blue Eyes. “How did he get hurt before the match, uh . . .?”

“Bunto,” the small Galra said. “And I don’t know! He was already beaten up and shackled when they took him to the arena.”

He was already shackled? The other prisoners weren’t shackled in their cells. Then slowly, my perplexity convalesce into a solid answer and a terrible image formed in my head which infuriated me. My hands clenched into tight fists and the edges of my vision darken from the focus rage I had for one certain person that had been a cancer in my life.

_ That son of a bitch _ , I thought bitterly.  _ He would do it. I can see him doing it. _

Blue Eyes let go of my arm. Maybe he had a change of heart or perhaps he sensed that my fury was greater than his and didn’t want it aimed in his direction. “I’m giving you one minute to say goodbye and then we’re gone, even if I have to carry you out.”

Grateful, I nodded and returned to Shiro’s side leaning over him and hoping I could coax some sort of response from him. “Shiro? Can you hear me? Open your eyes if you can.”

I checked his pulse again and it was a long time before I felt the tiny throb there. I was losing time, losing him. But then, it was such a small movement and so slow, his eyes open. They were unfocused, but there was life in them. His lips parted, but he didn’t speak, instead he took a slow shallow breath, but it was enough to fill me with hope that I had made it in time, that I could still save his life, but I had to hurry.

“Thank you, God, he’s still alive. Bunto, you have to stay here and keep them away from him. Do not let them take him to the incinerator. I’m going to get help.”

***

And what could I do? The only thing I could do. I had to find this Arena Master and convince him that Shiro was worth saving. The only obstacle was Zenana itself. Blue Eyes was taking me to the shuttle and once I was on it, I would be useless to Shiro. I could try to run away, but I couldn’t outrun a Galra’s speed and long legged stride.  At least, not in these shoes. And if by some small chance, I lost him, then he could alert the sentries to locate me via security footage. I would be found and caught within minutes.

I had to appeal to him, convince him to let me go. I didn’t know his name and he might still be piqued at me. I swallowed, knowing I had no choice but chance it.

“Sir,” I said kindly, with a soft seductive husk in my voice. “Could you . . .?”

He already knew what I wanted and he was not pleased about it. “No.”

“You don’t even . . .”

“I do and the answer is still no. Now be quiet and don’t ask again.”

I stayed silent, following him from the elevator, each step taking me further and further away from the one person who could help Shiro. “I have to find this Arena Master.”

“No, you don’t,” Blue Eyes replied stiffly. “Just let it go.”

“I can’t. Shiro is . . .”

“Just a slave.”

“A human like me.”

He didn’t say anything, but kept walking.

I kept talking, refusing to give up. “Sir, all I want is time. Give me two hours, no, one hour. Then you can report me as missing. You can say I ran away or whatever you want. I’ll take whatever punishment Madame Floentha gives me.”

“And then I get it for letting you go missing,” he responded sourly. “It’s not worth it for me.”

Then an idea flashed brightly. “What if I did make it worth your while?”

If he wasn’t wearing a helmet, I would swear his ears perked up at my words. He stopped and regarded me intriguingly, but suspiciously. “How?”

I pulled the necklace, Lord Trazik’s gift, and held it dangling from two fingers. “It’s yours. All I ask for is two hours.”

Blue Eyes looked at the stone and then at me, then back to the stone. I stayed quiet, letting him come to his own decision. I wasn’t sure how much the guards of Zenana were paid, but I was willing to bet what I was holding valued more than his annual salary. Then he held out a hand, but I shook my head and yanked up on the chain, tossing up the stone to land in the palm of my hand, keeping it out of his reach. “Do we have a deal?”

He studied me, his Blue Eyes as clear as a sky before a coming storm.

“Two hours, then you are on your own.”

I nodded and handed over the necklace. He gave it a quick admiring look and slipped it into his pocket. “I recommend changing your clothes before heading up. You smell.”  

* * *

There were private rooms for Courtesans near the arena where a change of clothes were stored in case the patron wished to extend a visit or she had to visit another patron in the same area. Before my arrival to the arena, clothes and makeup were stored there allowing me take a quickly change out of the blood stained dress. There were wash clothes in a dispenser for sponge bathing. I wiped away the scent of Lord Trazik, the odor of the slave pits, and Shiro’s blood from my hands.

I changed into a velvet green robe, tied at the waist with a green silk sash and flowed down in a long skirt. The sleeves hung wide and long over my fingers like an oriental robe. The dress covered me modestly until such a time when I choose it to be revealing and the sleeves at the shoulders could easily be slid down to reveal scented skin. I wouldn’t draw attention until I choose to.

After unraveling the braid and brushing my hair til it shown, I gathered the jewelry and stored them away in my pockets. Doubtless I would have to get past guards and if my strategy of acting like I should be there didn’t work, I could bribe them.  Blue Eyes promised me two hours. He would conveniently disappear into one of the arena’s many pubs and then head to the shuttle. If I was there, then all the better. If not, then he would report me as missing and the consequences would be mine to deal with.

My plan was to locate the Arena Master on the upper levels of the arena coliseum and try to appeal to his better nature to allow Shiro to be treated. And if he didn’t have a better nature, then I could seduce his sexual nature instead. It wouldn’t be the first time I had performed sexual favors to get what I needed.

None of the Courtesans noticed I was leaving without an escort and none of theirs tried to stop or question me. If an unwary escort got in trouble, then let it be on his head. Though I was in a hurry, I forced myself to keep a steady pace. A running Courtesan would draw unwanted attention.  

I was almost out of the private rooms when Takor walked around a corner.  He walked with a swagger in his step wearing casual clothes. I could smell the alcohol wafting off him from down the hall, likely returning from one of the arena pubs. The son of bitch had been celebrating Shiro’s ‘death’. Rage rolled down from the top of my head. If I had a gun, I would have shot him.

It was too late for me to hide or duck into a side room without drawing notice. Just moments after I saw him, he saw me. It was almost comical to see him halt in mid-strut and I would have laughed at him if the sight of him didn’t make me want to vomit in rage. I didn’t have time for a scene with him. Shiro’s life depended on me getting to the Arena Master quickly, but Takor wasn’t about to make it easy.

He was so tipsy it took him several moments to focus. “Bridget? What are you doing here?”

I stayed back, not wanting to be within his reach, “Changing my clothes. Lord Tazik spilled wine on them.”

“Where’s Kodan?”

Kodan? It must be Blue Eyes. “Waiting for me.”

I hoped for once his perception wouldn’t let him see through my apparent lie. I didn’t have time for the mind games nor could I afford a scene attracting unwanted attention.

Takor stared and blinked several times, considering my words, then he took in my face, studying it. I struggled to keep my face blank, free of the simmering rage I was hiding beneath the surface. Usually, I was good at hiding my emotions, especially from the Galra, but never from him. He knew me too well, he knew what to look for in my face.

“You’re awfully calm after your friend dying,” he commented.

Of course, he would notice that I wasn’t weeping in devastation at the loss of a friend. He had just came from the match, he would have been there to watch his handy work and drink to the Champion’s last match. I forced myself not to react and feared I had given something away with the twitch of an eyebrow or the curl of the lip.

“Where are you going? To the slave pits?” He stepped forward and I stepped back. “No, you’ve already been to the pits; that’s why the change of clothes.”

I took another step back, careful not to trap myself against a wall or a corner. I couldn’t outrun him, but I wouldn’t make it easy for him. “I told you. . .”

“He’s still alive, isn’t he? Despite Migo turning his organs into shredded paper, he’s still alive.” It sounded as if he didn’t know whether to be enraged or horrified.

“Despite your best efforts,” I said, unable to hold it back any longer. 

There was a long silence between us. I counted the pulses in my neck, knowing that each second I wasted could be Shiro’s last. Yet, if I tried to move, Takor would block me or worse, try to grab me and force me back to Zenana.

“I did it for you,” Takor began.

_ Oh, dear Lord. _ “No, you didn’t. Old habits are just hard to break. He was close to me and you didn’t like it so you tried to do away with Shiro like you did . . .” I couldn’t say his name. It hurt too much to even remember it. “Don’t you dare try to justify what you did as something to benefit me!” I could barely keep my voice below shouting level. The anger rose like a tide, making my hands shake. 

It was bold, maybe even stupid, but I brushed past him. I expected large clawed hands to descend on my shoulders and pull me back. For him to snarl for me to stop, but he didn’t.

I only got a few feet when he said, “I didn’t kill him, Bridget.”

I paused. “You might as well have.  You hobbled him before he was going to fight a monster.”

“No, not Shiro,” he said.  His voice was surprisingly soft, almost sorrowful. “Devin.  You may blame me for it, but in the end, I didn’t kill him.”

The anger rushed forward like water bursting through a dam. Powerful, all consuming, and drowning. I didn’t come to my senses until I heard the sharp snap of flesh across flesh and pain lancing through from my hand to my elbow. I saw Takor jerking back, a dark purple mark on across his cheek.  Within seconds, I had crossed the space between us and struck him.  He knew never to mention Devin’s name around me. 

Words tore themselves from my throat in an anguish voice I did not recognize as my own,  _ “ _ Yes, you did! You killed him! _ You killed him!  _ **_You killed him!_ ** ”

Heads were poking from the rooms as curious and cautious Courtesan were seeing what the screaming was about. A few escorts were stepping into the hall when I turned and fled to the elevator at the end. Takor didn’t try to stop me, or at least, I didn’t see him try to.

The doors hissed shut around me, giving me the solitude I needed to get the torrent of emotions under control. Pain, fear, sadness, worry, guilt, and rage all flowed through me, each struggling to take center stage in my heart. I swallowed it back, pushing it down, mentally struggling to find my center.

_ Center. Find your center. Slow deep breaths. One. Two. Three. _

It wasn’t working. I was remembering and the panic was coming with it.

_ A dark hole swallowing him. _

_ Coppery smelling redness clinging to my fingers. _

_ Bridget . . .l-let me see, Little Man . . . _

Pressing a hand across my mouth and nose, I screamed.  No one would hear me.  The elevator was muddled all sound.  The screaming helped, I was able to center myself again and calm down. Now I could focus on Shiro.  I couldn’t save Devin, but I could save Shiro.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments or Kudos is much appreciated. 
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr through RebelCourtesan muse blog.


	18. Lance, Katie, Haxus

The park was empty. No one took their children out to play anymore. The early stories of Glara taking away unattended children were too fresh in the minds of parents to risk them, despite there was little evidence of Galra stealing children away and why would they want to? Children didn’t make good slaves. Too small, weak, and dependent. They break too easy under stress or pressure and took up more resources than adults. Yet, mothers still refused to let their children out of their sight.

It made for a perfect meeting place for those who wished for privacy without being conspicuous. Lance sat on a bench with his hands tucked in his pockets and knees slanted apart. His hood was up, obscuring his features in case a passing Galra recognized him from the  _ Bruisers  _ fiasco. With his slight frame, he could pass himself off as some average guy on the street. Hunk stayed back at Margery’s because his height and weight was harder to hide, and he tended to freak if a Galra looks at him.

And it staved off any guilt Lance felt being around him.

It was times like these, he wished he smoked. It’d be something to pass the time with and it would ease the anxiety chewing his insides. Each day, he came here in case Pidge had something to report. It was open, free to come to, yet empty enough to ensure they wouldn’t be disturbed or overheard. So far, Pidge hadn’t shown up, but Iverson had indicated something had happened, and probably went wrong, last night.

A chilling thought came to him. Could Pidge have been killed during the data mining? Or worst, have been captured and is being interrogated now? He could be telling the aliens everything and they could be on their way here to capture him and Hunk. He could be wasting time sitting here when he should be hiding or warning Hunk.  Or kill him.

A figure walked around the corner of a building, pausing to look around and then approached the park. Lance sat up, hands in his pockets, his fingers reflexively curling around the knife Margery loaned him for his excursions into town. He recognized the slight frame of the person who had noticed him and was approaching cautiously.

“The Pot called the Kettle . . .” Pidge began.

“Black.  What happened? What went wrong last night?” He stood, almost leaning over the smaller boy.

The boy was wearing a hoodie with the hood up, like his. Lance pushed his hood back, thinking that it would look more suspicious if there were two guys in a park wearing their hoods. And it allowed him a wider range of vision to see who could be watching or coming. Also, Lance noticed, on the left breast side was a stenciled words, ‘Cheerleading Camp Grace’.

The boy hesitated, taken aback by Lance already knowing the mishaps of last night. “I almost got caught.”

“Did you?”

Pidge gave him an exasperated look, “Seeing by the evidence that I am standing here with you and not getting my ass kicked by Galra interrogators, then I can safely assume that no, I did not get caught.”

“Okay, smart mouth, then explain why you failed the mission,” Lance snapped.

“Hey, keep your voice down,” Pidge glanced around at the empty park. “I didn’t fail, I just didn’t have enough time. I got into the extranet, but it took a while to install the chip.  By the time it started sending data I was interrupted and I barely had time to cover my tracks and get out of there.”

“You’ll have to try again and finish the job this time.” Lance declared adjusting his jacket.

“What!?” Pidge’s mouth dropped open incredulous. “No way! I was spotted! They’ll have doubled the sentries and have that place on locked down.”

“The factory isn’t the only place with access to the extranet,” Lance said loftily.

It only took Pidge a few moments to understand his meaning. His brown eyes widen, “You don’t mean the old police station?”

“Do you know anywhere else you can access the Galra extranet?” Lance demanded.

“Well, it’ll save them time locking me up when I get caught,” Pidge muttered sourly.

“Then don’t foul it up again.”

The smaller boy gave him a considering look. “I’m going to need help this time.”

“We’ll help,” Lance said, knowing it was within the parameters of his mission to give assistance to Pidge if needed.

“And I’m going to need time to plan this out.”

“Fine,” Lance rolled his eyes.

“And I need something else. Not just information.”

Lance sighed, “How much?”

“Not money,” Pidge said, looking away and biting his bottom lip. “It’s kinda big, but I really need it.”

“Well, spit it out, whattaya need?” Lance said impatiently.

“A ship. Not a Garrison ship, but a Galra one. Not a big one, but preferably one that can go long distance, like a scouter or a fighter.”

Lance blinked. The kid continued looking away, until he looked hopefully at him from the corner of one eye. Then Lance tore into him. “Yeah, sure, no probs. Why don’t I get you a unicorn too? With a leprechaun as a jockey? Maybe bigfoot can come out and build you a golden stable to keep it in. Are you crazy!?”

“I know the rebels have some.”

“Newsflash, sport, those ships have been stripped down to the nuts and bolts for our scientists to reverse-engineer and even after all of that, we still can’t get their technology to work for us,” Lance said airily. “And even if, and I mean a big IF, by some slim one in a million chance we do decide to give you a ship, and by some divine miracle, you manage to find a work around the alien bio-keys, how do you plan on getting it off planet without being shot out of the sky?”

“By using their security-clearance codes and installing a larger scale scrambler to hide from their ships’ sensor nets,” Pidge explained snippily. “Look, if you want me to risk my neck again, then I need a Galra ship. If you can’t help me, then good luck data mining yourself.” Pidge reached into his pocket and held out the thumb drive. “Here ya go. I think you know the way to the police station already.  Having been there yourself after your first night here.”

Lance blinked again. Okay, he wasn’t expecting this. Time to change gears. “Whoa, whoa, waitaminute, let’s talk about this. Why do you even need a ship?”

Pidge lowered the hand holding the thumb drive. “It’s personal, but I guess you have the right to know since I need your help. It’s my family. The Galra has them.”

“So you want to shoot up a labor camp with a ship?” Lance sighed, relieved that this was an easier fix than he anticipated. “We got cells out there liberating camps. Just tell me which one they’re in and I’ll . . .”

“They’re not on Earth,” Pidge cut in. “They were taken before the Galra came.”

Lance stared at the smaller boy, nonplussed, then he remembered Shiro still alive (hopefully) in the alien arena. “Wait, your family, are they the Holts?”

Before Pidge could answer a female voice cried out, “Katie!!!”

Both of them looked around and saw a girl trotting up the street towards the park in a thick jacket and sweater, making her seem heavier than she was.  Her black hair was tied back in a ponytail that whipped the air as she ran. “Katie!!!”

“Who is that?” Lance said interested.

“Sammi?” Pidge said, surprised.

The dark hair girl ran up to them and nearly double over panting. “Ugh, I can’t run like this anymore. Stupid baby. You gotta get home . . .the Galra showed up at the clinic. I thought they were after me for . . . you know what . . .” She shot a blank Lance a nervous glance before continuing, “but they were looking for you! Dr. Michel didn’t wanna tell them, but they were scaring the patients. Mrs. Talbert nearly stroked out! So Dr. Michel gave them your address. I snuck out the back to warn you . . .”

“No, no, no!” Pidge turned on his heel and ran away,his shoes pounding the pavement, leaving Lance alone with Sammi.

Lance stared after the retreating figure, at a loss of what to say at the sudden exchange. He turned to Sammi taking in that she’s a really cute girl. “So . . .did you just walk out of my dreams?” He flashed her a white toothy grin.

Sammi looked back at the handsome swarthy boy, blushed, and then shook her head, “Sorry, I’m kinda staying away from guys for a while.”

Then she took off back in the direction she came from. Lance watched her leave and said to himself, “Who’s Katie?”

***

She ran, ignoring the agony ripping through her side, cursing herself for being so stupid. Of course, they would track her down. They’re freaking aliens with superior technology and deep stores of information. They practically dismantled the internet overnight and stored it away in their own data packets after they took over.

She had been careless and her mother was going to pay for it. The fight they had may be the last words they would ever share. No, Katie thought, the Galra had taken her father and brother, but they would  _ not  _ take her mother too.

There were several Peace Keeping groundcars parked in front of her house. She came to a jolting halt, wheezing hard, and ducked behind the edge of the garden. Once she was sure she had not been seen, she crept along the fence where she crawled through the grass, peering between the white boards. If they were still there, then they hadn’t taken her mother yet.

She moved past the edge of the fence and checked the back of the house. The backyard was empty with its overgrown grass and dead flower beds. When Matt and Dad had been around, her mother had the green thumb of the family, tending to the garden each day until Kerberos. Then the garden went unattended and died. The vines, uncontrolled, took over the lattice and clung to the stucco.

Her ribs were hating her and they were letting her know it as she hauled herself up the lattice. Struggling to keep from grunting in pain lest a Galra inside should hear it, she kept her eyes on her goal, the bedroom window. After a quick peek inside, she saw it was whole and untouched. They haven’t had a chance to search this room yet. Easing the window open, she clambered inside, her ribs warring with her lungs for space in her chest. She barely caught herself from falling onto the floor, preventing the loud thump that would have drawn investigation.

There was an old pistol revolver she had traded some of Dad’s old clothes for, hidden beneath the floorboards under the bed. The man who owned the gun told her it didn’t have much power, but it would shoot straight. She crawled to the bed, her sides heaving, and stifling her whimpers of pain, she felt for the board. There was a little notch, big enough for a finger to slip in and lift and retrieve the weapon. The gun weighed heavy in her hand, the metal cold and solid.

She had never fired a gun before and holding it was unnerving and the thought of firing it at someone, even a Galra, horrified her. Revulsion at the gun crawled through her and she wanted to hide it away in the floorboard and forget she ever had it in the first place. This gun might handle one or possibly two Galra, if taken by surprise, but there were multiple groundcars outside.

Any second, they would come smash in to search the room. She had a decision to make and she had to make it quick.

***

“I told you. I have no idea where she is,” the blonde human had said the same thing many times since they arrived. 

Upon their entry Haxus ordered her to have a seat and answer questions. Upon hearing they were looking for her daughter, she became alarmed, even defensive to the point that gave him good reason to believe she wasn’t tell him the whole truth. And what was worse, was Thace had opted to come along in this investigation, stating he wanted to be present when he interrogated civilians.

“I don’t want you starting an incident,” Thace had told him. “I’ve managed to contain the situation at  _ Bruisers  _ and I want to stay on top of whatever occurs from this.”

Thace was calmly standing near the woman, almost as if shielding her. Haxus ordered the men to begin searching the house. The woman grimaced at the sudden crash next room, but she remained on the couch, almost moaning whenever a loud noise indicated turned over furniture. Then some of his men headed upstairs. Haxus paced the length of the living room, regarding the dingy carpet with intense dislike. Everything was so primitive with an uncouth design. To think that just a few years ago, the humans actually believed themselves to be the only life in the Universe. Such backward thinking was nonsensical.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Thace watching him, his golden eyes following him as he paced the room. Was that . . .was that a trace of concern in his eyes? His hackles raised at the insult of it. Did the man think him weak? Believed he was too wounded to follow through on his service to the Empire? He is sorely mistaken if he believed he would allow his injuries and exhaustion allow him to take the credit for Haxus’ efforts.

The woman was obviously hiding the truth in some maternal attempt at protecting her child. It was plain to see and yet Thace refused to let him get close enough to the wench to drag it out of her. Haxus’s claws itched, especially the hand that still pang him. Oh, how he long to get his claws on the human who did this to him.

There was a scuffling upstairs and raised voice. He turned to the stairs as the bangs of heavy footsteps grew louder and there was a wail of protest that made the woman stiffen and raise a hand to cover her mouth in horror.

“Let go of me!”

“Shut up!” one of his men barked as he hauled down a youth by the collar.

It was a boy with brown hair and eyes, wearing a green hoodie and blue jeans. He was very small and thin bone and he dangled from the hand of Galra holding him by the collar of a hoodie. The woman rose from her seat, her eyes wide and watery, “Matt?”

The boy looked at his mother, his own eyes large and wet. He nodded, earnestly, “Yeah, Mom.”

The woman looked between her son and the Galra, her lips trembling. There was a tension between them, a fearful line between between mother and child that Haxus sensed, but couldn’t understand. There was something . . .something wrong with this picture, that he couldn’t remember . . .

“Who is this?” He demanded, irritated at his own failed facilities.

The woman’s lips tremble as she said in a low voice, “My son, Matt.”

Haxus swept his gaze between mother and child. Something had passed between them, but he couldn’t see it or had missed it. He jabbed a claw towards the lad. “Why say you had a son?”

“You didn’t ask about my son,” The woman said acidly. “You’ve only asked about my daughter. Please, let him go!”

“Where did you find him?” Haxus demanded the Galra still holding the boy.

“In a bedroom, under the bed.”

“I was scared!” the boy wailed pitifully.

“Please! He’s just a boy!” The mother said tearfully raising her arms beseechingly. “I told him to hide.”

“Why?” Haxus rounded on her.

“You came to my house with guns. I thought you had finally decided to kill us all,” the woman drew back, but only slightly, her eyes only for her son. “What danger is he to you?”

“Let him go,” Thace said to the soldier, but his eyes were on Haxus.

When the boy was released, he ran to his mother and they embraced each other tightly. The boy stiffened when the mother curled her arms around his back, but clung to her tightly nonetheless, uncaring he was being hugged in front of alien men.

“Did you find anything else?” Thace said to the soldier.

“No, sir.”

“When was the last time you saw your daughter?” Thace asked the mother.

“I haven’t seen her since she called me a traitor for wanting to teach the Empire’s history and left home,” the woman said coolly, clutching her child tightly to her.

“Contact Peace Keepers if you should hear from her again,” Thace said moving to door, motioning for the men to follow.

“W-what!?” Haxus spouted, eyes wide, his fur bristling. “We are not done here!”

Thace gave him a hard, definite look. “The house has been searched and the girl is not here. The mother said she ran away and I see nothing to indicate she’s lying. The clinic doctor said she did not show up for work today, so most likely,” Thace continued slowly as if leading a lesson on a difficult theory, “she went into hiding,” Then Thace quirked an eyebrow at him, “Wouldn’t that be the most logical assumption?”

Haxus’s eyes flashed.  He seethed as he fought to keep from bearing his teeth or flattening his ears. Thace’s words were sound, but they were missing something! His head so full of fog from exhaustion, the pain killers, and the stimulants to keep his mind awake was keeping him from seeing something vital. He turned his gaze to the boy still clinging to his mother, peeking at them over his shoulder. The boy caught his gaze and burrowed his face into her chest.

Finally, Thace’s voice broke across his thoughts. “If you are so infatuated with the boy, why not take him along?”

Haxus reeled at the implication and his face darken as he turn on his heel and marched out of the cursed house. Without a word to Vix who was watching him inquiringly, he climbed into the backseat of a groundcar and began checking his messages as the anger and humiliation simmered.

Nothing so far about the remains. The medical examiner would continuing working until he compiled his findings into a report. The tech specialists were still scouring the factory main office computer to see what data had been stolen. With nothing to direct him to his next destination, he could return to his quarters and get some much needed sleep. He might in fact doze off on the drive back to base.

Then the door opened and Thace climbed in. Haxus bristled, his crest nearly rising to full height, “What in the blazes are you doing?”

“We’re going to the same place and we need to talk,” Thace said simply and shut the door behind him.

The sentry driver started the car, pulling away from the curb. The planet’s sun was beginning to reach its zenith, forcing light through the tinted windows, making the air warm and comfortable. Haxus glared, his eyes nearly glowing as hotly as the noon sun. Was Thace finally saying he was taking over the investigation? That he was having him dismissed from his duties and sent back to Central Command?

Thace’s face was set in a firm frown, staring ahead silently, in deep contemplation. “I’m not taking over your investigation, nor do I wish to interfere with it, but I cannot allow you to cause a situation that can spiral out of control.”

Haxus furrowed his brow, “Care to elucidate?”

Thace’s chest rose and fell in a deep sigh, “You wouldn’t understand even if I explained it, but trust me when I warn you to tread carefully around the humans. Do not use excessive force and only arrest suspects when you have collaborating evidence and I will be present for any interrogations.”

Haxus arched an eyebrow, “Do you not have control of your District, lieutenant?”

“Yes, I have control,” Thace replied, turning a somber gold eyes to him. “But when it comes to humans, control is tenuous at best. If things are tolerable they’ll live with their heads bowed; that is until something intolerable happens, such a mother and child being terrorized in their own home by the Galra invaders.”

Haxus’s expression barely changed, but there was a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. “I fail to see . . .”

“No surprise there,” Thace interjected. “I’m sure there’s a lot of things you don’t understand, but understand this: my position is maintaining the peace in this district so I will be watching your investigation very closely and I will intervene if I believe you are disturbing that peace. Do you understand that?”

Haxus was quiet for a long moment, considering before he acquiesced, “Very well. I will refrain from causing undue strife in your district as long as I have your support when I present my findings.”

“You sound confident for someone who has no leads on the rebel nor the murders,” Thace mused.

“You let me worry about that. Do I have your support or not?”

“As long as you provide sufficient evidence, then yes, you have my word.”

His concerns of Thace taking over assuage, Hacus found himself comfortable and actually a bit energized. He’ll go by the morgue despite the medical examiner's preference to be left alone. He must have some to report findings by now. His eyelids felt heavy for want of sleep, but there was no time, any time wasted resting could cost him his recognition. There were enough stimulants in his bodysuit pocket which can get him through the rest of the day.

***

Mom continued to hold her long after the Galra left. Katie counted her mother’s heartbeats through her cardigan. She had hidden her face away from the Galra she encountered last night.  She recognized him from the sterile wrapping around his hand where she had stabbed him. Terror filled her heart for any second, he could recognize her, call her out on the charade, but they bought it. The most difficult thing had been hoping her mother would catch on and play along.

When Matt and Katie had been small, many people believed them to be twins despite the few years between them. When she wore her hair short during her early adolescent years people kept mistaking her for Matt. Upstairs, as she held the gun, she saw the scissors she had used to cut the duct tape sitting on the edge of the dresser. When the footsteps were climbing the stairs, she lunged for them and hastily sheared her hair, hiding the tresses with the gun under the loose floorboard.

Her mother finally loosen her arms for Katie to step back, but when she did, she saw that though she had managed to evade the Galra, she still had Mom to contend with.

“You are going to tell me everything, young lady,” Colleen said with a stern absolution that only angry mothers could attain.

“Mom, we don’t have time. They’re going to figure out . . .”

“Then make time,” Collen said darkly.

“Mom, please . . .”

“Katie Holt,” Colleen seethed. “Before Matt was born, your father and I both agreed we would never spank our children and we have never laid a hand on your or your brother, but you are coming very, very close to a switching if you don’t explain yourself right now.”

Katie swallowed, biting her lip and saw no way out of it now. “Alright, Mom, I’ll tell you.”

She watched her mother’s eyes go from barely contained fury to sobering bewilderment, and then silent horror. When she finished, Colleen stared at her as if she didn’t recognize her. The woman opened her mouth several times as if to begin speaking and then close it, looking nonplussed. Finally, she focused on one thing.

“Lift up your shirt,” her mother demanded.

“Mom! We don’t . . .”

“I know we don’t have time, so stop fighting me and do as I say!”

Katie turned around and lifted the back of her shirt and winced when Colleen exclaimed, “Oh! My poor baby! How did this happened?”

“I fell in the vent, but Mom, please . . .”

“You could have broken your back!” her mother exclaimed in near panic at the thought of her daughter’s near missed from a severe spinal injury. “How could you . . .”

“MOM!!!” Katie shouted, dropping her shirt and rounding on her mother. “We have to get out of here before the Galra come back and they  _ will  _ come back once they realize that Matt is really enslaved in space and not here on Earth.”

Her mother’s consternation fell into shock. Her lips trembled and Katie realized what she had said. She mentally moaned at herself for her carelessness, but how could she help it. It might as well all come out now.

“Matt and Dad didn’t die on Kerberos,” Katie said as gently, but as urgently as she could. “They were captured by the Galra. That’s why I’ve been exchanging information with the rebels.  I confirmed it last night on the alien extranet. They’re alive and . . .”

Colleen’s eyes flashed, taking Katie aback, and then she said scornfully, “How long have you know?”

“I . . . I knew for a while,” Katie said carefully, realizing she had really stepped into it now.

“How long is a while?” Colleen said steadily through her teeth.

Katie swallowed, wishing the Galra had arrested, “Since after the Kerberos mission.”

The room echoed from the resounding slap. Katie pressed a hand across her red cheek and stared wide eyed at her mother. Her mother’s face was torn by grief and rage, and tears spilled from her eyes. “For two years I’ve been crying my eyes out over losing my baby boy and the love of my life and you’ve known they’ve been alive all this time?”

“No! I mean - I suspected, b-but I didn’t get proof until the rebels contacted me,” Katie stammered before sagging. “Mom, I’m sorry, I really, really, am, but please, we have got to go. Once we’re some place safe I’ll tell you everything about Matt and Dad, I swear, and I’ll even let you hit me some more if it makes you feel better, but please, let’s just go!”

Mother placed her hands over her face and took a deep breath and releasing it in a deep sigh. Then she dropped her hands, “Go upstairs and grab only the things you need like clothes, toothbrush, underwear, shoes, and socks. Not your gadgets or computers, and yes, I know you’ve been putting together computers in your room, you are your father’s daughter after all. Then come downstairs and help me pack. Maybe some of what we need hasn’t been broken by those bastards.”

“Mom, where are . . .”

“Somewhere safe,” Colleen said giving her a gentle push towards the stairs, “like you said we have very little time and you’re not the only Holt with secrets.”

***

An hour later found them walking in the hot midday air loaded with suitcases and dragging wheeled luggages behind them. Katie worried that they would draw attention, but Colleen said that they would draw more attention if they tried to sneak away.

“The neighbors already know we’re losing our house and we’re not the only ones. Several families have already moved out with whatever they could carry.”

Colleen would not tell Katie where they were going, seeming content to be the one to withhold information. Katie doubted her mother was that spiteful, most likely it was all her mother could do to keep from panicking, collapsing under the weight of the events of the last hour. She walked in a long gait, the luggage rumbling at her heels. Katie had to trot to keep up.

Soon they came to the outskirts of the civilian district, where the houses were small and sparse. A little girl was pedaling a tricycle up and down the driveway of a house with an overgrown lawn. She halted at the end of the driveway and watched them pass with a finger in her mouth. A dog barked at them from a gated backyard until a rough voice hollered for it to shut the hell up.

Sweat was beading on Katie’s forehand and with each panting breath, her ribs were reminding her that, yes, they were still cracked and were going to make her pay for this long trek like the dickens later. Just as Katie was going beg her mother for a break, Colleen suddenly turned up the driveway to a house with peeling green paint. Just before she stepped onto the front porch, the door opened.

A portly black woman appeared behind a screen door. Her wide frame blocked any inside view of her house, but she gave Colleen a friendly smile. “May I help you?”

“I’m a friend of a friend,” Colleen said carefully.

“They tell you I’m selling peas?” The black woman’s eyes flashed between the two of them.

“Sorry, they said you might have blueberries.”

Katie looked between Colleen and the black woman, knowing from her time with the rebels, that they were exchanging pass codes. She stayed silent and hopeful.

The black woman nodded, “C’mon in, honey, and be sure to tell your boy to wipe his feet before he comes in.”

Katie swallowed, almost to tell the woman she was a girl, until Colleen shot her a look and she stayed quiet. They were led inside into a small, but cozy kitchen. A little boy and girl were coloring old coloring books and barely paid them any attention as the woman led them through the back. The woman took them to a far wall, next to the living room, and pushed aside a painting of an smiling clown offering a balloon to a child. There was a small knob set into the wall the woman pulled on and a small door, gave way.  Behind it was a narrow, steep staircase leading downward.

The woman stepped aside motioned them inside. “I’ll come get you tonight when the truck comes. You’re the only ones so there’ll be plenty of room down there with some beds if you need to rest. Looks like your boy could use some.”

“Thank you, miss . . .?” Colleen started.

“No names,” the black woman said not unkindly. “Those are the rules. No names.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Colleen replied apologetically.

It was a struggle to go down the stairs as only old Christmas bulbs stapled to the walls was lighting their way. Katie was burning with questions as they maneuver their way down into a wide room with several mattresses on the concrete floors. There was an old notched bar table against the far wall with several barrels standing like squat sentinels. There was a soiled card table, missing a leg, propped against the wall.  Against the opposite wall was an old bar with empty shelves behind with a cracked mirror.  Some of the stools in front of it were still standing, but a few were on their sides broken.

Katie dropped her luggage on the floor and looked around. “It looks like an old saloon.”

“It was, in a way,” Colleen said placing her luggage on the floor with more care. “It was an old speakeasy back during Prohibition, runned by mobsters and bootleggers. Customers would sneak down here to gamble and buy alcohol.”

“But what is it now? I mean, who is that woman upstairs? Why are we here?”

Colleen lowered herself onto the cleanest looking mattress and gave Katie a directive look. “You first. Tell me about Dad and Matt.”

Katie chewed her lower lip. “Well, it was after the Kerberos mission failed. I . . . I hacked into the Garrison files on the incident.”

“Oh, Katie,” Colleen moaned. “It’s a wonder you weren’t arrested for treason.”

Katie decided she would omit the part where Iverson had threaten her with that very thing. “I saw that things didn’t add up. They say Kerberos mission failed due to piloting error, but there was no evidence of it on any of the video feeds from the probes. Before I could dig any further, the Galra came to Earth and they came from the same direction as Kerberos had been orbiting when the crew disappeared. I suspected for a long time and didn’t actually get any evidence until the rebels contacted me.”

“And you are certain,” Collen said, clutching her hands together on her lap. “That they’re alive?”

Katie nodded, “I think so. I know where Dad is. He’s somewhere called Pelar, in a work camp. I - I don’t know where Matt is . . .but I know where Takashi Shirogane is. And someone named Bridget Walsh . . .”

“Katie, what do you intend to do with knowing where they are?” The pregnant pause that followed was all the answer Colleen needed. The mother pressed a hand over her eyes and took another deep breath. “No, it’s too dangerous. How would you even . . .”

“The rebels will . . .”

“No, they won’t,” Colleen said firmly. “The rebels will keep any alien tech they can get their hands.  Not give it away on some slim chance of a rescue for a handful of humans. You are too smart not to see how high the odds are stacked against you.”  Katie looked away as tears pricked the edges of Colleen’s eyes. She touched her daughter’s shoulder and said softly, “Honey, I would tear through the universe itself to get them back, if I could, but we have to face reality.”

Not wanting to speak anymore on the subject, Katie changed the topic to what she really wanted to know, “Mom, what is all this? You were mad at me for working with rebels and here you are . . .”

Colleen gave a small smile, “We’re not the rebels.”

Katie blinked, “What? Then . . .”

“We’re a resistance group, but unlike the rebels we don’t go around blowing things up and getting people killed. We focus on surviving and helping people who need it. Remember last year when the Galra were looking for Mr. McArthur, but they couldn’t find him?”

“He was the one who was hiding guns in his basement?” And he was the one Katie bought the gun from.

“Yes. We managed to hide and smuggled him out of the district,” Colleen drew Katie close to her side, a hand rubbing her arm. “Just as they’ll help us hide and get us out of the district.”

“Then where?”

“Not Kansas City, that’s for sure,” Colleen said sadly, but gave Katie a reassuring hug, “We’ll figure something out.”

“I’m sorry, I messed things up.”

“It’s alright, darling, and it’s not your fault. You were doing what you believed would help your father and brother, I just wished you had told me, let me in, I could have helped. Didn’t I have the right to know what was going on?”

“I . . . didn’t want you to worry,” Katie said ashamed.

“Or you didn’t think I could have been much help. I’m not the brainiest one of the Holt family . . .” Colleen sighed.  

“Oh, Mom, that’s not it.”

“It’s alright. You don’t have to spare my feelings. When you were four and built your first computer that I’m part of a family of geniuses. I’m proud of of that.”  Colleen stroked Katie’s cheek and then touched the shorn hair, “Oh, baby, I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m so sorry you had to cut your hair to save us. I wish - I wish things were as they were before. I wish we could go back to that last family dinner we had and just stop time.”

Katie bit her lip, tears filling her eyes. “Mom, I will get them back, I promise.”

They held each other for a long time before falling asleep. Colleen holding Katie to her chest as she did when Katie was small and had bad dreams. Katie clung to her mother, her last thoughts before falling asleep were of finding Matt and Dad and bringing them home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments or Kudos is much appreciated. 
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr through RebelCourtesan muse blog.


	19. Haxus, Katie, Thace

The medical examiner was an older Galra with thinned fur around the ears and a perpetual wad of chewing candy in his cheek. He gnawed on it in wet smacks as he spoke that annoyed Haxus to the point of nearly bristling his fur, but he managed to control himself. The cold air of the morgue permeated through his bodysuit, sending a chill through his fur and it was all he could do to keep from shifting to keep warm. He was very eager to leave this place, but he would stay until he received every tidbit of information he could glean from the bodies.

“They all died at least a week apart,” the ME said through his wad. “And there are bits missing.”

“Such as?” Haxus inquired, standing stiffly at the edge of one table where a long body bad lay. The air carried the strong scent of ammonia from the purifying ducts. Haxus kept himself from wrinkling his nose, but the ME who was used to spending hours in such air seemed unperturbed by it.

“Organs. Kidneys from one. Lungs from another. Even took the liver and heart from the third.” The ME gnawed on his candy wad enthusiastically, likely squeezing out as much of the last vestiges of flavor. “but they are all missing their femurs.”

Haxus wrinkled his brow, remembering, “I recalled they had their legs intact.”

“The muscles and skin and fur, yes, but not the bones. Look,” and much to Haxus’s repugnance, he unzipped the edge of the bag to expose the lower body and release the decomposing stench into the air. The horrible smelled seemed to go for him directly and the ME, whose face was closer to the source, continued to speak at ease. 

“See here,” he pointed with a claw tip and Haxus, taking a gulp of clean air leaned in to see. “Along the outer thigh, the skin had been neatly cut. Not burned with a laser scalpel, but with metal. The bone was surgically remove.”

The line between the parted flesh was so thin and precise, it would have been hard to miss if one didn’t have a trained eye. It was a tidy line, cut with no hesitation nor unpracticed hand. The Galra used laser scalpels, small blades with refined lasers to neatly cut and cauterized as it went. Have the humans developed their medical technology enough to have such things? He would have Vix look into it later.

Haxus nodded, indicating he had seen enough and the ME closed the bag and ordered the air to be cleansed. Once the air freshened, Haxus said, “Do you have any idea why they took the bones?”

ME shrugged, “Dunno. If the humans were like the Orithugs, then I would say they wanted to use the femurs like clubs. As for the organs, I could guess its for study, though I don’t understand why they only took so few organs and not just scoop out everything if they wanted to see similarities between each soldiers.” He scratched his jaw, then his ear, “Also, I daresay, I believe they were alive when they organs were removed. I just hope the poor buggers were too out of it to realize what was happening.”

“Out of it?” Haxus said interestedly.

“Yes, the three of them were inebriated with drugs in their systems. They all tested positive for Gall Powder.” At Haxus’s confused expression, the ME said, “You must not have been here long not to know it. It’s something the humans cooked up using their cocaine and our steroid powder. It enhances performance while granting the user euphoria. Here, I can show you . . .”

“No need for a demonstration, just tell me the symptoms,” Haxus said quickly, not wanting another blast of torrid air.

ME tucked his wad into his other cheek with his tongue and continued, “The eyes become bloodshot around the edges and they can experience sinus problems as a side effect. Too much use can cause involuntary spasms in the hands.”

Suddenly, Haxus’s shoulder twinged. Refusing to acknowledge the pain in front of the ME, he said, “Do you know where they purchase this drug?”

“Nope, I don’t self medicate, but ask around at  _ Bruisers _ . Most of the lads know where to get some if they want it.”

Or one in particular, Haxus thought as he departed the morgue.

***

The truck came in the late afternoon, before it turned dark. It was a garbage truck, one of the few still allowed to work its trade in the district. The driver was black and familiar with the woman, possibly a relative or a family friend. He told them to load their belongings in the back seat and to lay low and quiet.

The woman told them there was an apartment available, just blocks away from  _ Bruisers _ . Before both Colleen and Katie could quail at the thought of being housed so close to a Galra bar, the woman affirmed that the best hiding place is under their noses.

“They’re so eager to get drunk and laid, they don’t pay attention to what’s around them. Just stay inside at night and you’ll be fine.”

The cab in the back was cramped, making Katie glad for her small size or it could have been much worse. The trip was long with constants stops as he loaded garbage along the street. The sanitation truck was allowed only to prevent the district from being filled with garbage and even then it ran on a strict schedule. They were lucky they had fled their home on a night when the truck ran or they would have stayed in the speakeasy for days. Despite the driver running the AC at full power, it was still hot and uncomfortable in the back. Sweat rolled down their backs and collected on their brows and temples. And then there was the smell. It got worse with each stop as more and more garbage was collected. Sometimes it smelled of body order and other times it was leftover food gone to rot. Just as Katie was willing to jump out and risk the Galra seeing them, just to feel cool air on her skin and breath it deep, the truck came to a sudden stop.

“Alright, stay inside. I’m going to make sure it's clear then you can finally get outta there,” the driver said and climbed out. Minutes later, he stuck his head inside, “C’mon on, but be quick.”

They climbed out, dragging and pulling their bags with them. The driver ushered them towards an open door on the side of a two story brick building. Over the tops of the other buildings they could see the light from  _ Bruisers  _ glowing hotly beneath the stars, a dire reminder that being arrested was just a few blocks away. Inside, an old woman wearing a woolen shawl led them up the stairs to the third floor. The driver gave them a salutary wave and departed in his truck.

“There’s an apartment at the top with a fold away bed,” the old woman said as they climbed the airs. She was leaning heavily on the stair rail, her shoes clomping on each step. “You’ll share a shower at the end of the hall with a young man who’s in the other apartment.”

Katie wondered if he was another human in hiding, but didn’t ask. She and her mother agreed that it would help them hide if she pretended to be a boy named Matt. It was such a common name, the Galra shouldn’t be able to make the connection with Matt Holt.

The apartment was tiny with a kitchenette and dining area sharing a claustrophobic space with enough room for a fold away bed. There was a small bedroom with a twin bed and a rickety dresser. The windows were covered in metal bars and heavy drapes completely covered the windows, hiding out the view of the street, or in their case, hid them from view.

“It’s safer to stay inside before it gets dark,” the old woman said giving Colleen her copy of the key. “The Galra start meandering along to  _ Bruisers  _ just before sun down. It’s best to be off the street before then, especially if you’re a woman.”

A chill went down Katie’s back. Could the Galra soldier who assaulted Sammi had been drunk or high from partying at  _ Bruisers _ ? Perhaps the bar was causing problems for humans with its operations, but then again, without an outlet, the Galra might be even more dangerous.

After the woman bid them goodnight and left, Katie unpacked her bags. Though she obeyed her mother in carrying needful things, she made time to pack a laptop computer and bring along the thumb drive. It could still prove to be useful in finding Matt and Dad later on, yet the biggest obstacle remained of getting a ship. Her best bet would be the rebels, but as her mother said, she had no misgivings about them just simply giving her a ship. Still, there were the two idiots still roaming around the district. She could strike a deal with them, but doing so would involve her data mining in the police station and that carried its own dangers.

She needed to speak with them again if she could manage it.  Getting away from her mom for another meet up with Lance would be tricky, but perhaps she could manage it when Colleen was busy.

“So what about money?” Katie asked her mother after putting away her clothes and stashing her computer into a hiding spot.

“Don’t worry about money. We won’t be charged for our stay here,” Colleen told her as she pulled out the fold away bed. It was lumpy with some suspicious stains, but sound enough for Katie to sleep on.

“And how long are we staying?” Katie asked as she tested the bed. She would have to sleep on it at an odd angle lest a spring stick in her back.

“I’m not sure. They can only move people at specific times and certainly not when the Galra are on alert after that fight in the bar and ‘someone’ tried to hack their computers.” Colleen didn’t look at Katie as she went into the kitchen to check for food. After a brief look into the refrigerator, she said, “I’m sorry, baby, but it looks like we’ll have to do without tonight. I’ll get groceries in the morning.”

Katie groaned, realizing the last time she had ate anything was a piece of chocolate she had found in Sammi’s candy stash. Funny, she hadn’t been feeling hungry until Colleen brought it to her attention they had no food. Well, she could suck it up for another night at least. However, there was nothing to do to get her mind off her hungry stomach. There was no tv, she didn’t dare work on her smuggled computer in front of her mother, and going out was out of the question. Colleen busied herself by cleaning up the kitchen in the usual way moms were when they were worried and was trying to turn a bad situation into a good one with good housekeeping.

Katie went out to sit on the stairs to think without making Colleen feel obligated to feel the silence with chatter. She wasn’t alone for long before heavy footsteps came up the stairs along with a delicious smell that made her mouth water. A youth with dark hair and several years older than her was climbing the stairs, his hands filled with two large pizza boxes. Katie scooted to the side to give him room to reach the last step.

The youth reached the last step and was heading down the hall to the second apartment when he stopped, turned around, and lowered the top pizza box to Katie. “Here, you look like you need this more than me.”

She stared in amazement as she mechanically took the box. “Uh, thanks . . you don’t . . .”

“I can’t eat all of this alone and you looked like a starving stray,” he said.

Katie wasn’t sure how she felt being compared to a stray dog, but she was distracted by the wonderful smell wafting from the box. Cracking the box, she sat it had a variety of meat toppings. “Where did you get this? I thought all the pizza joints were closed.”

“I repaired this guy’s AC and he paid me with a meal. He used to make pizzas before the Galra invaded so he had plenty of dough and toppings left over in his freezer.”

Katie stared up at him. His black hair was styled in an mullet and his eyes were an odd shade of violet. He was very good looking, but either wasn’t aware of it or didn’t care. He wasn’t posing or fishing for admiration for his good deed, but simply stated the truth of not wanting to have too much food. He looked very familiar, but she couldn't put her finger where she had seen him before. “I’m Ka - Pidge. I live next door with my mom.”

“Keith,” the guy said.

Just Keith? Well, he didn’t seem to interested in sharing his name or speaking more as he walked away. Katie took the pizza inside the apartment and surprised Colleen with it.

“Katie, you didn’t beg for that, did you?” Colleen asked sternly.

“No, I didn’t.” Katie said wondering why mothers had to take a cautious angle when it came to getting things, no matter how much they were needed. “A guy just gave it to me.”

“Let me look at it first before you eat.”

“Mom, c’mon, I don’t think he goes around sprinkling rat poison on pizzas and gives them away to kids, do you?”

“You can’t be too careful nowadays,” Colleen said inspecting the pizza. “I think it’s alright. Just eat slow or you’ll get a stomach ache.” She fetched a plate despite Katie already grabbing a slice and eating it with gusto. “I don’t want you leaving this apartment until it’s time for us to leave the district.”

“Mom . . .”

“I mean it,” Colleen said firmly. “We can’t risk the Galra recognizing you . . .”

“He didn’t recognize me before . . .”

“So why take the chance?” Colleen set the two plates down on the small round table. “Please, don’t leave the apartment.  For me.”

Katie chewed slowly on her mouthful of pizza to buy herself time to think.  Once she swallowed, she said, “I’ll try not to, Mom.”

A sad, knowing looked crossed Colleen’s face,, but she said nothing as she helped herself to pizza.

They went to bed early. Katie laid diagonally to keep avoid the loose spring and was close to sleep when she heard the door opening and closing down the hall and footsteps down the stairs. It could only be Keith and she wondered where he was going at this time of night. Well, she was too tired to worry over it and too grateful to Keith to get into his business. She laid her head down and fell asleep.

***

It turned out the buffoon was more useful in the brig than he was running the munitions factory. He stammered and pleaded and apologized and wouldn’t speak coherently until Haxus promised to have him released and transferred to another position on an outpost with his honor intact. Then the oaf was able to explain where he had gotten the Gall Powder. He never got it directly himself as he had soldiers bring it to him. They bought it outside of  _ Bruisers  _ from a human.

“What human?” Haxus demanded.

The oag shrugged his dumpy shoulders. “You’d have to ask them, sir.”

And Haxus did. The soldiers told him it was a different human each time. They didn’t know their names, but they knew the name of their supplier. Margery Kayla.

It was late by the time he left the brig, the sun lowering behind the edge of the district walls.  _ Bruisers _ . He knew in his gut that wretched place had a part to play in the murders. It stinked of rebel involvement, but yet, it didn’t seem right. Why kill just a few soldiers and harvest only so few organs and bones? In the early days of the war, Galra had been captured during sorties with human militaries. They had found the labs where their kind had been vivisection to discover better ways of killing them. The humans involved had been made an example of in the prison camps.

As much as he despised going back there, it was yet again, another lead, but more tangible this time. He finally had a link with all three murders and what better place to abduct them than at  _ Bruisers  _ where Galra came and went freely and all would be too deep in the drink and women to pay attention to any unusual happenings.

When he arrived at the bar, the glaring lights from the neon sign hurt his sleepless eyes and he tugged his ears forward to keep his discomfort hidden. The bar was loud as usual with raucous laughter and high handed chatter. In the far corner, a trio of Galra were singing an old victory song while throwing back mugs of dark liquor. Sitting in the middle, at a round table, was Thace nursing from a tumbler of beer and seating next to him was a dark hair female human. Unlike the other females who were serving drinks and fawning over customers, this one was sitting primly next to Thace holding a bottle she used to keep his glass full. Thace’s eyes were on the door and the brows rose in surprise upon seeing him.

“Haxus?” He said inquiringly, fully aware of Haxus’s disdain for Bruisers.

“I’m not here for pleasure,” Haxus told him stiffly, slipping into Imperial. “Its for the investigation.”

Thace switched to Imperial as well, “Have a seat. I’ll have Leslie fetch you a drink. You look like you could use one.”

The human woman looked between them curiously when they switched languages and perked when she recognized her name. After a few words in English from Thace, she hurried off to fetch Thace a drink as he took a seat across from the lieutenant.

Haxus got straight to business, “I have a lead that suggests that the murdered Galra were taken from  _ Bruisers _ .  They were lured outside to buy drugs and they were taken.”

“Makes sense,” Thace said casually. Leslie set Haxus glass in front of him which he ignored and resumed her seat next to Thace.

He gave her a brief glance remembering Vix’s tidbit of gossip about Thace with a human whore. She was hairless like her species with a thin frame, being barely more than skin and bone. What did Thace see in the creature to take her as a doxy?

“Does the name Margery Kayla mean anything to you?” Haxus said.

It got more of a reaction than he had expected. The woman’s eyes widen when she heard the name mixed in his language and Thace stared at him long and hard before taking a long drink of his beer. He set the glass down with a solid thump and shook his head when Leslie tried to fill it.

“I was hoping she wouldn’t be involved in this,” he said.

Raising an eyebrow, Haxus rapped his claws on the table. “Who is she? And why such a reaction?”

“She runs the local cartel. They sell drugs to Galra and medicine to humans. They even smuggle items in and out of the district on the side.”

“And why hasn’t she been arrested?” Haxus asked with a haughty gleam in his eye.

“Because there’s no proof she has done anything illegal. Everytime I organize a raid on one of her drug dens, all we find are the permissible drugs under the Imperial charter.” Thace said ruefully. “We don’t even have to break in. She invites us in and offers refreshments as if we were visiting neighbors.”

“Then obviously she has informants within your men,” Haxus rapped his knuckles on the table, irritated by the lack of Galra pride here.

“I know that, but I have no idea who they are as the most of the men have used Gall Powder at some time. And since it's not illegal, I can’t crack down on potential suspects,” Thace explained exasperated. “I don’t believe the Druids could even touch her shadow.”

“But you know she’s selling illegal drugs to humans.”

“Yes, but again, I can’t prove it and I have no idea how she’s getting the drugs in the first place.”

Haxus was quiet for a long time, thinking. Then he told Thace about the ME’s findings. “Would she have anything to do with the murders?”

Thace shook his head, “I don’t see why she would. Galra are her best customers and she’s not afraid of us.”

Haxus finally took notice of his beer. The glass was covered in a wet condensation. He took a long pull from it, pleased to find it was a familiar brew. Setting the glass down, he said, “I notice your choice of words. You don’t see why she  _ would _ , not you don’t see how she  _ could _ .”

Thace sighed, scratching the edge of his chin. “She’s quite capable of doing anything. Sometimes, dead human bodies are found out in the desert. Cut up, heads bashed in, sometimes they looked as if they had been runned down by a vehicle. Most of them have been identified as working for her at one point or another.”

“And no humans report her?”

Thace tilted his head, “They know not to.”

“But none of the bodies had any organs surgically removed?” Haxus said curiously.

“No, I don’t think so,” Thace replied. “I’m afraid your investigation is going to hit another dead end if Margery Kayla is involved.”

Haxus snorted resolutely and took another pull from his beer. From the corner of his eye, he watched Leslie boredly studying her nails. He would confess she was comely, but still look like a bald waif without fur. If Margery Kayla sold drugs around here, then could the women who work here know more than they let on. Now how to get Thace’s pet alone . . .

Thace suddenly scooted back his in chair, surprising Haxus who momentarily imagined Thace had read his mind and didn’t like what he saw. “Excuse me,” he said as he maneuvered around the table and headed for the door in long strides.

Haxus watched him, looking over his shoulder at the door where the overweight human, Bruiser, was blocking a young dark hair from entering the bar. He was speaking furiously into the youth’s face and jabbing two thick fingers into his chest. If the youth had Galra ears, they would be pinned to his head in a near hiss and teeth drawn back in a silent snarl. Before the youth could respond Thace was there, speaking hurriedly. Bruiser instantly stood back submissively with his head slightly lowered, but the youth brazenly looked up at Thace’s face so irritatingly freely. Bruiser went back behind his bar and Thace and the youth went to the counter together.

“That’s Keith,” a female voice said.

Haxus was so surprised she had spoken, he didn’t respond with a reprimand of her speaking so casually with him. “Who?”

“Keith,” the woman, Leslie, said picking up Thace’s mug and draining the last drops. She swallowed, wincing at the strong Galra brew, “He was involved in the bar brawl a while ago, but it looks like he and Thace have sorted it out.”

There was something in her voice. A slight edge, that Haxus couldn’t put his claw tip on precisely. Regret? Chagrin? No, it doesn’t matter, he had her alone for now.

“Margery Kayla? Who is she?”

“The devil,” Leslie said simply.

Haxus had only briefly studied human culture such as customs and etiquette, but hadn’t gotten as far as religion for which there was so much. However, he knew enough to recognize that ‘the devil’ was a negative term to describe ‘bad people’. “And what makes her the - uh - this devil?”

“I heard a lot of things about her and none of it good,” Leslie said. “Bruiser used to chase her dealers away from here because he didn’t want anything to do with her. Then one day, he comes in with a flat lip and busted ribs. Since then, he never sends them away, but he still says she’s what would you would get if Jack the Ripper and Nurse Ratchet had a baby.”

More human terms he couldn’t follow. Thace was still standing at the bar with the youth, but that could change at any second. “Do you know where I could find her?”

“I heard she sometimes hangs out in an old church out in the western side of the desert. It used to be called The Lion’s Den, ya know, based on that story from the Bible, Daniel and the Lions. Now it’s called The Drug Den.”

Haxus looked back at Thace and this Keith. They were still at the bar together, but something was off. The human was staring sullenly at his soda can and Thace was almost leaning over him, golden eyes focused solely on him. Haxus looked back at Leslie, then back at Keith, then at Thace again.

_ That’s Keith. _ Her voice had carried a tone he hadn’t pinpointed until now. It was sullen, dismissive, and envious.

Then he looked again at Keith toying with a coke can, and then at a quiet Leslie who was toying with Thace’s glass by turning it this way and that. The pieces fell into place. He set back in his seat smug, reminding Leslie of the cat who swallowed the canary.

Eventually, Thace returned to the table and the youth had remained at the bar, nursing from a drink can. Haxus flashed Thace a snide smile which caused the other Galra some pause before he sat down next to his mistress. “Was there anything else you wanted to discuss?”

“No, I have everything I need,” Haxus said rising to his feet. “I’m sure you want to be alone with your . . .  _ Leslie _ .” Then he departed the establishment feeling almost exhilarated, finding this trip to Bruisers actually worthwhile.

***

Bruiser was ready to toss the kid out through the door with the help of Ginger; the baseball bat he still kept from days before the Galra came. Ginger had seen him through many barroom brawls and aided in dealing with unruly customers. Even came to his rescue during a robbery. Now, with purple aliens that could and would shove Ginger sideways up his ass, he retired her to behind the counter in the off chance he needed her. And right now, his hand was itching for her.

Thace appeared at his shoulder, “He’s with me.” The youth looked as if he was going to say something, but stayed petulantly silent.

Bruiser looked between the Galra and the youth and gave a firm nod, “A’right, sir, he’s welcome to come in as before, as long as you want ‘em to.” This last part was said with an air of warning to Keith.

Keith said nothing, his lips sealed tightly in a thin line. When Bruiser stepped aside, he went to the bar and was surprised by Thace accompany him. “What is it?”

“I was wondering how you were,” Thace said, raising two claws to indicate Bruiser should bring them drinks.

Keith swung himself onto his usual stool, the one closest to the door. “Why?”

Thace remained standing and took the moment Bruiser brought them their drinks to think. So the youth had refashioned his emotional armor since they last spoke, but at least Thace now had reason approach him freely now.  Once Bruiser departed to serve a patron on the other end of the bar, Thace picked up his drink, an Alara ale, and said, “I was concern the others would harass you over the incident.”

Keith shrugged, “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” He popped open the soda can and sipped it. “I do want my knife back.”

Thace was waiting for the conversation to swing towards the knife. “It’s in a safe place.”

“It belongs to me,” Keith said.

Thace was impressed by the youth’s persistence. “And for reasons I have already carefully explained to you before, it is impossible for it to truly belong to you.”

Keith said nothing, but his dark brows dipped low above his eyes. Setting the coke can on the counter with a definite tap, he said “Then I guess we don’t have anything more to say.”

Thace stayed though. He knew he was pressing his luck with his presence, but he wanted, no, needed to grasp something from this youth, a small connection, albeit weak. He felt bolden to say, “Oh, I don’t know, I think there’s a lot more we can say to each other.”

Keith made a indistinguishable noise that carried no malice in it. It was more out of annoyance, as if he was accustomed to having his solitude intruded upon by an unwanted companion. He glanced at the repaired holo-screen. “Do you know how the last match turned out?”

“I don’t really keep up with the games,” Thace admitted. He had always found them distasteful and kept his disgust hidden by indifference. 

Keith actually looked disappointed, no, not that. Something flitted behind his eyes, an anxiety there that concerned Thace. Did he have money riding on the fight’s outcome? Leslie and Bruiser both attested that he never placed bets, he’d only watched the fights and left when they ended.

“Do you enjoy the games?” Thace said, reaching for that connection with Keith.

Keith took a long sip of soda before answering, “I just find it interesting to see all the aliens. Three years ago, we thought we were it, ya know? That there was no other sentient alien life, but us. Then out of nowhere, you guys show up and there is this huge universe out there with civilizations that been around since before we were swinging from trees.”

There was wonder in his voice, Thace could hear it as clear as a song. Galaxy Garrison was military, but it had devoted itself to space exploration before the invasion. Keith was becoming an explorer before he had been expelled. Based upon their basic space flight capabilities, Keith’s best hope had been to explore the other planets in this system alone. Now he found that it was unimaginably bigger than his people could ever conceive.

Thace had visited over hundreds of planets in his life and knew what he had seen was only a drop in the ocean of what the Empire held. And there were many more planets that had yet to be enfolded by the Galra. He could understand the fascination of discover a new species and culture.

Realizing he was spending too long at the bar while Haxus sat alone with Leslie, he reluctantly returned to the table, regretful he couldn’t spend more time with Keith. Haxus had been uncharacteristically happy when he abruptly left, almost strutting out of the bar. Leslie was unduly quiet after his return.

“Are you going up?” Leslie asked him, breaking his reverie.

“Not tonight,” he said. “I have work to do.” And he had to keep an eye on Haxus. “What did you two talk about?”

“He asked about Margery Kayla,” Leslie said. “I told him about her Drug Den . . . was I not supposed to do that?”

“It’s fine,” Thace sighed standing and pulling a handful of chits from his pocket. “He’ll discover it sooner or later. It might even be educational for him to visit. Here and tell Bruiser to let you turn in early.”

“Thanks, Thace.” Leslie took the chits and carried them to the bar to pay for the drinks.

Leslie was pleasant and he found that he liked her. She had this sixth sense about when to stay silent and when it was safe to make her presence known. He never planned on taking her as a mistress.  It just happened as Bruiser felt it prudent to appease him by giving him Leslie, a girl he believed the officer liked, and Thace believed the girl preferred him to being available to all Galra. Also, she got more time off with more pay compared to the other girls.

After giving Keith a wistful glance, he left the bar.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments or Kudos is much appreciated. 
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr through RebelCourtesan muse blog.


	20. Keith

When a castle was siege, the invading army would sound horns and bang drums alerting the inhabitants they were there, souring soldier morale, and frightening civilians. Sometimes they chanted songs of victory and shouted the horrible things that would befall the defeated. The Galra didn’t use horns, drums, or chants; instead they had media outlets to influence. After Commander Prorok’s first appearance, the Galra periodically plagued the entertainment channels and social media sites by replaying his warning and showing clips of other planets being swiftly subjugated by the Empire. Their weapons and firepower flashed across infinite number of screens of televisions, computers, and other devices.

These were combated by the UN reassuring the public the images were mind games sent to damage morale and cause widespread panic. However, despite the assurances the Galaxy Garrison, allied with other nations, the public was in a constant tension nearing panic. People were quitting their jobs, building doomsday shelters while others left the cities believing it safer in the country. There was a widespread rash of suicides of people who couldn’t cope with the fear of the impending invasion. It was on the news that a group of people went to the top of an office building after hours and jumped off in a suicide pact. Shortly after, a woman was arrested for drowning her children in the bathtub, claiming she rather them dead then suffer whatever the Galra intended.

There were others, however, who found being taken over by aliens as a positive thing. They were called Pro-Galra. They argued that the Galra would bring benefits to humanity by curing disease, saving the planet from pollution, and even giving humans the advance technology. Many of them vied to welcome the Galra with open arms, some even dyed their hair or painting themselves purple to show their dedication. These people were spit on and beaten in the streets or outright arrested in other countries and branded as traitors.

And then there were others who took the lighter side, playing Sheb Wooley’s Purple People Eater on the public radio and late night skits involved comedians dressing themselves up as Galra and bumbling around, confused with human culture and becoming fed up and leaving Earth of their own accord. Very few found this actually funny save for children, the ignorant, or outright stupid.

***

Keith liked the ranch. It was far enough away from the hysteria and close enough to stay abreast of what was going on. Yet, there was still fear in the air like fog hovering over a mire. The other ranch hands had gone to be with their families and he was the only one left. The extra work didn’t bother him as it kept him too busy to think of things he’d rather.

Such as going back to the Garrison and seeing if they’ll take him back so he could fight in the upcoming war. He was no fool to think that the pledges for peace and cooperation some factions of government were hoping for would come to fruition. There was going to be a war and it was going to be nasty one and a lot of people were going to die. 

If Shiro was still alive, then he would be there training in the sims and helping to enlist new recruits and boost morale. The Garrison, the same faction that blamed him for the Kerberos malfunction, would print his face on recruitment posters across the globe.  The thought of it brought a bad taste in Keith’s mouth and the anger simmer beneath the surface of the injustice of it.    

Shiro would have expected Keith to be there training by his side. Not out here, losing himself in shoveling horse manure and mending fences.  What would Shiro say if he saw Keith now?  Not much, because if Shiro hadn’t disappeared, then Keith would still be a cadet.

Soon he had to make a choice. Last week, Galra ships had begun amassing within Earth’s orbit and the overtures for peace or dialogue was being ignored and more demands for Earth’s surrender came daily. Galaxy Garrison was mobilizing their forces and people were already leaving their homes for bunkers and shelters. Even the ranch owners were going to turn the horses loose and go stay with family in Houston. He had already received his pay and they asked him to stay long enough in the morning to fill the troughs with feed and leave the stalls and stable doors open to give the horses one last good meal before running free.

He turned in early that night, but found he wasn’t able to fall asleep, twisting in the blankets on his twin bed. The apartment was small, barely bigger than the dorm he had back in the Academy. It was room enough for a bed, a mini-fridge, and short set of drawers. The window had a thin crack in the corner, but held solid against the wind and rain. The seemingly peaceful starry sky hid the malignant presence beyond them.

Keith laid on his side and stared through the window, his mind racing of where he should go tomorrow. Shiro would want him to return to the Garrison, but he was no longer here. When he first enlisted, it had been a chance to find a place for himself in the world, outside of the foster care system, and had been about to go down the drain if Shiro had not changed his life.  Now with him gone, it felt empty, just a shell he had to share with others. And the betrayal of the Garrison blaming Shiro for the Kerberos failure still stung. Why would he want to fight by the side of those who had sang Shiro’s praises when all went well, but cast blame on him for the tragedy?

There was a soft noise outside his door. It was a quiet shuffle, someone standing outside his door. He sat up, listening carefully. If it was the owner, then he would have already knocked or came in. “Who’s there?”

There was a short gasp and a long pregnant pause before the door slowly opened. Keith never had reason to lock it as he didn’t own anything of value and his money had always been direct deposited until he cashed everything the day before. Opening the door was the owner’s daughter, Amy. “Hi, sorry, I - I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No, I was having trouble sleep,” Keith said sitting up, crossing his legs.

“Me too,” Amy said stepping inside and closing the door behind her.

Amy was a few years younger than him, in her senior year of high school. Unlike her father who was heavyset man cover in hair with a red nose and gruff voice, she was slim and fair like her mother with sky blue eyes and pert nose. Her hair was floating up in wisps, hanging in the air like broken spider silk when she walked towards him. Keith liked her as she weren’t one of those girls that seemed to hate silence and wanted to fill it with endless prattle or gossip and annoying giggles. She seemed to like the silence as much as he did. She spoke when she had something to say and did her part when it came to work.  

Keith shift over to make room for her as he had no chairs or anywhere else to sit for that matter. Amy perched on the edge of the bed drawing the shawl, likely her mother’s, around her.

“What’s wrong?” Keith asked.

Amy gave him a rueful smile. “Haven’t you’ve been watching at the news?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said, unsure what he could say.

“I haven’t been sleeping for weeks. I mean, I get so tired I pass out, but I don’t feel rested when I wake up,” Amy said, slipping her feet from the house shoes and setting the heels on the edge of the mattress. “I . . . haven’t been eating much either.”

“It's been rough for me too,” Keith admitted.

“Where are you going to go?” Amy asked, but shook her head, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked, none of my business.”

“I have a safe place out in Texas.” He didn’t want to talk about the Garrison as he still hadn’t decided.

“That’s good,” Amy said, fidgeting. “Mom says we’ll work things out with the aliens, but that’s not what the news is saying. Dad doesn’t want to talk about it. What do you think?”

Keith drew a deep breath, considering, and then said, “There’s going to be a war.”

There was a long silence and he could almost hear Amy swallow. Then she said quietly, “Do you think we’ll win?”

“Honestly?”

“Yeah.”

Keith scooted back until his back was against the wall. He unfolded his legs to stretch them out, his ankles handing over the edge. “One of two things is going to happen. We can hold them back, but it's going to be a long protracted war because they got all the resources of an entire galactic empire backing them and we only have what this one planet has to offer. Eventually, they’ll break down our forces while killing both military and civilians alike. The best possibility is if it’s a quick war with them overwhelming our forces and seizing control within a year, if it even lasts that long. Either way, we’re going to lose and I think our top branches of government realize this and are making contingency plans for when the Galra eventually take over . . .”

A sob broke through his expound and he realized that Amber was crying. Shit. She didn’t ask him if they’ll win the war to hear a textbook answer as if he was still in the Garrison. She wanted reassurance and he had dashed that.

He wasn’t used to being around crying girls as the ones in the Garrison were military and trained not to be so emotional. Amy was just a civilian who had been living a good American life and that is now being threatened and she was terrified. He wished he had paid more attention to when Shiro was around women as he would know what to say or do. And worst, he wished he had paid attention to whenever the annoying Cuban kid was around girls, he certainly would have known what to do.

Well, he had to do something, anything. “Hey, it . . . it’ll be alright?” Even that sounded weak, even to him. Okay, he seen guys pat each other on the shoulder, so that would have to work with girls too, right?

He leaning slightly, he patted her shoulder a few times and that sudden physical contact triggered what happened next. Amy embraced him tightly, throwing her arms around his neck and clinging to him. The soapy smell of strawberry scented shampoo rose from her hair. “Keith, I’m so scared.”

He wasn’t one for casual hugs or embraces. Early under Shiro’s mentorship, he became accustomed to Shiro’s friendly touches.  He was no longer startled or on the defense when Shiro gave him a camaraderie pat on the shoulder. One day, while on a camping trip to supplement a survival course, Keith stepped over a log and startled a rattlesnake. Shiro instantly contacted emergency aid from the Garrison who sent a drone to their location with a suction device to remove the venom and an anti-venom injection. After treating the wound, Shiro gathered Keith into his arms and held him, keeping him upright and calm.

What frightened him more than the bite itself was the fear in Shiro’s eyes. He chided Keith for being so careless and even jokingly accused him of getting bit as an excuse to get out of camping, but the strain of worry was there around his eyes. He held Keith for nearly an hour until he was certain the anti-venom had done its work, gathered their gear and fashioned a walking stick, and helped Keith return to the Garrison outpost.

During that hour, in Shiro’s arms, he felt safer. Not completely, as he believe he was feeling the snake venom burning in his veins, but the fear was lessened and panic staved away. Here and now he had terrified an already frightened girl so the least he could do was offer her the same comfort. The only person he had embraced before had been Shiro and it was odd holding this girl. 

Then he noticed how warm she was in his arms and it elicited an unfamiliar warmth inside him. It spread through his chest and stomach and he found it not unpleasant to feel her frame against his. Then he felt the pressure and moisture at the side of his neck. He jumped, startled, not by the sudden touch of her mouth, but by the sudden thrill shooting through his neck and shoulder.

“I’m sorry!” Amy whispered in horror, pulling herself arm's length from him, her face turning several shades of scarlet. “I didn’t . . . I mean I meant to, but I didn’t want to - I mean I did! I’m sorry, I’ll just leave.”

He should have realized why a girl would sneak into a guy’s room late at night when the future was so bleak. He had been aware of her fondness for a long time. She timed her chores with his; cleaning the feed troughs while he shoveled the stalls, outside training horses while he was bailing hay. When she brought out thermoses of coffee and dinner plates, she always brought him a prepared plate while the other hands were left to help themselves.

“You don’t have to go,” he said. It had been a while since he felt . . .not bad. Since the moment, the second, he heard something had gone wrong on Kerberos, he had lived in turmoil of worry, anger, and grief. The warmth and pleasure had been a soothing balm to a longstanding wound. He wanted to feel good, but then he didn’t want to feel guilt or wrong. “But if you want to go, I won’t stop you.”

She stared at him for a long time, her face unreadable. Then slowly, as if she was going to peek inside his soul, she pressed her lips to his. They were soft and smooth and he tasted a hint of her minty mouthwash, still fresh on her breath. What followed next was whorls of heat, the brush of her body against his. This was new, strange, and sensual despite their inexperience.

“Keith, you’ve never?” She later whisper, covering herself with her arms, still too shy to let him see her freely, her face and neck bright red.

“No, I haven’t,” his face glowing almost the same scarlet shade as hers.

“I haven’t either.” She seemed very pleased by this, which surprised him.

He had been expecting disappointment or even disapproval from her. Wasn’t the guy supposed to be more experienced than the girl? It was one of those social things he never understood that made him such an outsider. The guys in the Garrison, a Cuban boy among them, would often jeer and brag about the ladies they’ve ‘bagged’ over the weekend trips to the city. They mocked him for preferring to train instead of drinking and dating and the girls would look at him as if he was some bizarre rare creature. They never understood how such a handsome boy wasn’t interested in girls, or even guys for that matter. If he was into guys, then it would make so much sense for why he remained aloof and unattainable.

There had been a girl in his sophomore year that had taken his disinterest as a personal insult and had begun stalking him. He saw her everywhere, she went to all of his classes, hung around the gym and simulation rooms, and always meeting him in the halls. Any girls he spoke to in passing, regardless the nature of the exchange, she harassed. Then she began leaving presents in his locker, beginning with love letters, clippings of her hair, and it progressed to an engagement ring and then her underwear.

The day she slipped her thong into his locker was the same day Shiro found out about the harassment. It wasn’t that Keith had meant to hide what was happening, it was just too embarrassing to talk about and he believed he should handle it on his own. They had been changing in the locker room after a long workout, when Keith opened his locker and the black lacy thong fell on the floor. His face turned beet red and he swooped down the grab them, but Shiro had already seen them.

“You got something to tell me, Keith?” Shiro asked mildly. “Or should I mind my own business?”

Not wanting Shiro to get the wrong idea, he told him what was happening, trying to pass it off as a joke. It was no big deal, just some girl who won’t take no for an answer. He was not expecting Shiro to become so upset.

“Keith!” Shiro exclaimed. “This is sexual harassment and stalking. You have to report this.”

“It’s nothing,” Keith said, his face still red and wishing he could throw the underwear away.

“This ‘nothing’ has ruined a lot of good careers and lives,” Shiro said getting dressed, pulling his clothes on in quick jerks. “What if she starts spreading rumors about you? And I’m not talking about humiliating rumors, but bad ones that can get you kicked out of the Garrison.”

Shiro took Keith to see the Headmaster where he had to answer uneasy questions about the ordeal. No, he had never dated or had sex with her. No, he never did anything to lead her on. Had he ever asked her to stop? No, but he figured ignoring it would show his disinterest. No, he didn’t wish to press charges.

Thankfully, it wasn’t just him issuing a complaint, the girls she had harassed came forward with death threats from her, warning them to stay away from Keith. A quick background check confirmed the girl had done the same thing to a classmate back in middle school and there had been reports of her sneaking into a neighbor’s house. She was dismissed from school and sent to a mental health facility.

“Keith,” Amy whispered into his ear. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to do ever since I saw you bailing hay last summer.”

She stretched along his body, brushing her hair over her shoulder and pressed her mouth along his clavicle. Head tilted back, he basked in the sensation of wet heat moving over his chest and ribs. Her tongue slip over the dip and rise of muscles, hands grazed his sides and cupped his hips. A shudder rippled through his stomach when she went lower and lower still. Then a sudden intense heat touched him between the thighs and he gasped and jerking his legs.

“Did I hurt you? I’ll stop if you want me to,” Amy said worriedly.

“No, it’s fine, it just took me by surprised. Don’t stop.”

Her hair tickled his thighs and his head tilted, face relaxed in tranquility as a warm lassitude flowed through him. It was like floating in a warm water during the hottest part of summer. All thoughts of Shiro, Garrison, the upcoming invasion all faded to the background under the outpouring of ecstasy. He could understand the obsession with sex; it was such an amazing stress reliever.

Amy raised her face, her hair hanging over one eye like a curtain. “Did I do it right?”

“I don’t know, but it felt,” he struggled for a word. Good wasn’t good enough. Amazing would be overdoing it and wonderful sounded lame. And then he suddenly wondered why he cared so much about his choice of words around her. He swallowed back his pride and said, “It felt really good, Amy. Do you want me to . . .”

“N-no, I . . . I would be too embarrassed if I . . .if I smelled or . . .tasted bad,” if it was possible for her face to get any redder it did. She cleared her throat, and moved to straddle him. “I think I’m ready.”

He was certainly ready, nervous, but very ready.  Too ready.  He caught Amy’s shoulder and sat up, “One sec, let me grab something from my wallet.”

“What?” Amy said curiously.

“A condom.”

Amy blushed and then turned white as she realized their near missed. “I can’t believe I forgot . . .yeah, please go get it.”

It was awkward to walk with an erection to the closet where he kept his belongings. The wallet rested between packet of old photos and an old knife with the hilt wrapped in bandages. Flipping it open, he searched the pocket where he kept the rubber. Taking it from the pocket, he remembered when he first put it in.

Shiro had been driving them back from late night movie when he told Keith he needed to give him something when they arrived at the Academy. Keith wasn’t sure what to expect, whether it was a new tactical survival knife or tickets to game, but he was speechless when Shiro placed a square piece of plastic in his hand.

“What . . .?” He gave Shiro an incredulous look.

“Keith, you’re 17 years old. It’s about time you started carrying one.”

Keith stared at the rubber, “I don’t have a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend.”

“It doesn’t matter whether you have one or not,” Shiro said firmly. “Things happened. Sometimes you plan for them, other times they just happen. Every guy should carry a condom in their pocket and girls too.”

“Isn’t this like giving me permission to have sex?” Keith asked bemused.

“Have you ever asked permission to do something stupid or dangerous?” Shiro said reproachfully.

Keith was quiet for a moment before sighing, taking out his wallet, and tucking the condom within an inner pocket. “There, happy?”

“Very, but don’t forget you have it,” Shiro said. He stayed in a thoughtful, quiet moment, before he said, “Do you know Cadet Hawkins?”

“Yeah. He was an okay pilot,” Keith said wondering where this was going.

“And his girlfriend, Cadet Bryant?”

He vaguely remembered a blonde communications student, but he nodded. “I think so.”

“They both dropped out of the program.”

“Why? What’s wrong with ‘em?”

“Bryant is due in October,” Shiro said with a regretful sigh. “And the wedding is going to be in July.”

“Ohh,” Keith’s eyes widen. “Shit . . .”

“I don’t want that to happen to you until you are damn well ready,” Shiro said, “and only with the right person. I can’t stop you from having sex, but I can at least make sure you have what you need to keep yourself and your partner safe.”

This was one of the many gifts and shows of affection and love Shiro had for him. It seemed silly to cherish a condom, but seeing it reminding him of that night when Shiro showed he cared. The back of his throat tighten and he didn’t hear Amy calling his name.

“Uh, sorry, I . . . I had a hard time finding it,” he said returning to the bed, carefully tearing open the small packet.

***

They lay with arms entwined, her head on his shoulder and his arm around her waist. Their heavy breathing mingle together in the dark air, sweat clinging to their skin, and the sheets whispered whenever they moved. It wasn’t the best of love making as it being their first time. It had hurt her at first and she stopped him when he tried to pull away. 

“I’ll be okay. Just give me a sec to get used to it.”

When she was ready for him to continue, he moved in slow strokes, watchful for any signs of pain or if she wanted him to stop. When he was certain she was fine, did he allow himself to become absorbed with the pleasure spreading through his body, pulsing in rhythm with his motions. Amy rose to meet him, her arms crossing across his back, her nails biting at his shoulders. She cried out, startling him into believing it was a cry of pain until he saw her glowing face and her lips met his, drawing him in as if he was the air she desperately needed.

When he climaxed, he shivered, his hips pulsed into hers, the throbbing growing between his legs and pleasure coursed through him hotter than his blood. Then he collapsed atop of her, into her arms, and breathed heavily through his mouth, the afterglow of sex staying with him long after he rolled off her.

“Keith?” Amy’s voice was soft, and deep from the afterglow.

“Yeah?”

“Will you come with us? To Houston?”

Surprised, Keith looked at her, “To Houston?”

“Yeah,” Amy pulled herself closer to his side. “My relatives have the room and Dad likes you. He said he wasn’t expecting much work from you since you were a dropout, but you’ve impressed him. He won’t mind taking you along. He likes you.”

He could see what she truly wanted to say in her eyes.  _ I love you and I want you to become part of our family. _

When was the last time he has seen such acceptance? Other than Shiro’s? He had seen desire in other girls’ and sometimes boys’ eyes, but there has been something to gain on their end whether it was sex or bragging rights of nailing the Ace of the Academy. This was different, it was an offer.

There was now a third option. He liked Amy’s father who was rough man of few words, but was fair and dutiful. Her mother had always been kind to him with that maternal concern for those without mothers. And Amy was good, different from what he was used to, but they could become closer. They had already shared an intimacy they had never shared with anyone else. Would Amy’s parents want him along? The whole having sex with their daughter wouldn’t be openly accepted, but perhaps the father wouldn’t mind having another man around for protection, especially one who had Garrison training.

Shiro had told him one day he would have a family. Being orphans, they had celebrated the Holidays together. Sometimes it was out camping, spending the day watching surgary sweet Christmas specials, or playing video games. Keith had made a comment about how their Christmases would never be the traditional with dinners and relatives and kids opening gifts.

“Keith, one day you and I will have that,” Shiro told him while a game screen was loading on the tv. “One day you’ll meet the right person and you may become part of their family. Or better yet, start a family of your own with them. Like one day, I might have kids.”

Keith stared at him, his controller sitting precariously in his hands. “You want kids?”

“Someday,” Shiro said with a shrug.

The idea frighten Keith more than he cared to admit. If Shiro met the right woman, then he would belong to her and if they had kids, then he would belong to them. There would be no more camping trips, on the fly training sessions, taking a hikes, or even just going for a drive together anymore. He would lose Shiro, just as he had lost his father, but worse. Shiro would still be alive, but would ignore him others. 

In the end, he had lost Shiro anyway. Just like his father.

“No, I . . . sorry, Amy, I like you, but I . . . I can’t.” Keith sat up, pulling out of her arms. Setting his bare feet on the floor, he hung his head, hair hanging in his eyes. “And it’s not you, I promise that it isn’t . . .I - I wouldn’t be a good fit for your family.”

Something would go wrong. It always did. Before Shiro, he never connected with anyone. Even as a child, he was the kid who played by himself on the playground, the weird kid the other kids stayed away from. Social cues the other children had learned to pick up on, he had trouble understanding. He had been tested for autism and had gone through several behavior therapies that never helped. It was as if he belonged somewhere else.

She was touching his shoulder, so close, the side of her breast touched his arm. “Keith, can you promise me something? If you’re not going with us, can you at least not go back to the Garrison? If what you say is true and that we’re doomed to lose this war, then I want to know you’re as far away from the fighting as possible. Maybe one day we’ll meet again?”

This was something out of some war romance novel. The heroine begging the man she loved to stay home and not go to war. In the story, the hero would proclaim his honor depended upon it, then he would kiss her and promise he would return a hero and wed her. But this was not a war story, this was real life.

Keith discovered he truly had no wish to fight, no drive to, and he was grateful for Amy to give him an excuse not to go, though hardly tangible.   He made her no promises save that he would not go back to the Garrison. He kissed her cheek, but didn’t pledge his love or proposed. Instead, she got dressed, hugged him, and went back to her house and Keith went to sleep.

***

When morning came, the family was gone. Their SUV was missing from the drive and the grounds seem so quiet and empty without them. However, Amy did leave him a present before they left. On the first step before his door was a handgun with a note attached.

_ Be safe. _

If he wasn’t so broken, if he was normal like other guys, then Amy could have been the one. He imagined marrying her and starting this family Shiro prophesied, but it felt empty, not bringing any of the warmth he would have expected. Something was missing inside of him.

He released the horses and filled the feed and water troughs. They meander through the meadow watching him with curious twitches of their ears as he went back to his room and collected his belongings and loaded them onto his hoverbike. He needed to hurry if he wanted to buy food and supplies before the prices skyrocketed as they would when the Galra began their attack weeks later.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments or Kudos is much appreciated. 
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr through RebelCourtesan muse blog.


	21. Bridget

I wasn’t certain which level had the more bloodthirsty audience. The lower levels where the public brayed for blood in a pretentious show of being good citizens of the Empire or the upper levels where the echelons of the Galra hierarchy took quiet pleasure in the violence, even to the point of arousal. Sometimes, I believed I could smell the blood from the field. It’s not all coppery like human blood, some of it had a pungent odor or sweetness that I could almost taste.

I stayed out of sight when I was able and when I couldn’t, I stood erect and ready, appearing I was waiting for a patron. Thankfully, those in passing seemed more interested in their own entertainment than a lone slave. I was left alone, unharassed as I passed the halls, keeping my distance.

My heart thrummed in my chest, unknowing of what I should be doing to find the Arena Master. It had sounded so simple in my head down below and now that I was up here, second thoughts and doubts plagued me. Would I be enough to entice him to save Shiro’s life? What if he took what he wanted anyway and still let Shiro die? He could be dead right now anyway and all my efforts would be for nothing.

Panic was settling in, twisting my stomach, making me feel sick as more worries convalescence in my mind. If Madame Floentha discovered what I was doing, I could be put back through indoctrination again and I barely survived it the first time around. And worse yet, I could lose my place in Zenana and God only knows where I could end up. As much as I despised Zenana, at least I knew how to survive there.

I kept going, refusing to let my cowardice kill Shiro. I had to try or I would regret it for the rest of my life. I already lost too many people.

In my worry, I nearly didn’t notice the pain in my hand and to my horror, it was red and swelling. I must have sprained or broken it when I hit Takor. It was hard to move the middle fingers and my hand spiked with pain each time I tried. Dammit, the last thing I needed was an injury. I kept it hidden beneath my long sleeve and hoped it wouldn’t get worse before I was done.

I kept my eyes forward, though lowered so as not to meet the eyes of those coming in the opposite direction. I walked with a steady gait with direction as if I was summoned somewhere. No one stopped me, likely not interested enough to warrant investigating my presence. I kept going up past several levels that seemed all the same until I finally arrived at the upper tiers. I knew I was there when the elevator opened out into an expansive hall with decorative reliefs of the Empire’s emblem carved into the walls.

Sentries were posted in regular intervals and when they made no move to intercept me, I continued at the same gait as before, as if I had somewhere to go when in fact I had no idea where I was or where I should be heading. I had never been this far up before and the further I went, the more sickly I felt that I was in the wrong place and slowly getting myself deeper into the mire.

It was as if I was in some dark woods like from a fairy tale. The little girl or children in most cases find themselves alone and lost in a forest where charming wolves or malicious old grannies would beguile or trick the children into becoming grotesque meals. How long before a wolf or witch tried to get me?

I felt the energy ahead before I saw them. A familiar ominous hum that made my every hair stand on end. It wasn’t a sound, it was a feeling and it froze me in place when I heard a sough, a brush of cloth, from down the hall and a Druid appeared around the corner. Terror poured over me from the top of my head to my feet. I nearly flung myself against the wall, well out of the way and landed heavily on my knees, catching myself with my hands. I was so frightened, the pain lancing through my arm from my injured hand went unnoticed.

I kept my head bowed low as I did before, long ago during my first outing with Madame Floentha. And this time, I would not raise my head.

Their robes whispered like ghosts in their passing. Was I the only other person in the hall? Being so alone with them frighten me almost as much as the earlier thought of being caught. I wanted someone there with me, even if it was Madame Flo whispering threats at me.

Suddenly, I felt cold as if a freezing wind had blown across my back. As if my clothes had been stripped off me and I was thrown into an ice pond, taking me back to a memory of an incident when I was a little girl. Dad had taken me along on an ice fishing trip one winter when I was five years old. The wind had blown the snow off the lake’s icy surface and it delighted me to see the fish swimming beneath the frozen surface. Not knowing any better, I had followed the fish to the deeper end of the lake, where the ice was thin and weak. I only heard the crack before the ice broke beneath my pink snow boots.  I fell through the ice and the sudden emergence in below freezing water was the worst pain I had ever experienced in my life. Below the water, I had gone into shock and gulped water into my lungs and stomach, freezing my insides. If my father hadn’t been so quick to find me, I would have died that day.

I was back there, beneath the ice and being carried down deeper and deeper. It stayed with me long after the Druids had gone. When I raised my head, I sucked in air until my lungs were about to burst, then I rose shakily to my feet. I leaned against the wall, recovering and getting my thoughts in order.

How could I have been so stupid to forget the Emperor was attending the matches today?

**_My body belongs to the Empire. My body serves the Empire. Vrepit Sa._ **

Wherever He went, the Druids were never too far away and if they were walking, or floating, the halls, then He was somewhere on this level. Every part of me wanted to run, to find the elevator and leave this level as quickly as possible. I tried my best, surely I couldn’t be faulted for it if I couldn’t find the Arena Master. The Druids were here, He was here, I couldn’t, can’t, help Shiro like this.

I seized control of myself and exerted the breathing exercises Ulaz taught me. Centering myself, I drew deep breaths through my nose and felt everything stabilize around me as if I was solidifying myself. I was still afraid, but I was not about to go into hysterics. The Druids were gone and the Emperor was watching the matches so He would not be walking the halls and I would have some warning if He did.  With that in mind, I continued my search.

Twenty minutes later, I was no closer to finding the Arena Master and my panic was starting to creep back. I had seen no one since the Druids and I was beginning to fear that it was only them and the Emperor on this level. I would need to go down a level and see if I had missed anything.

I nearly ran into the Druid when I turned a corner. I was in such a hurry to leave, I took no notice of the prickly sensation spreading across my skin. It loomed before me like a black cloud, the mask gleaming white like a bird’s skull. A short shrill yelp escaped my throat and I back away so quickly I had to catch myself on the wall to keep from toppling backwards.

He or she, it, responded to my fright with only a slight twitch of its mask, perversely reminding me of a curious predator, an eagle or hawk. We stared at each other for several heartbeats. I stepped back, my hand sliding across the wall. It was the injured hand and pain rolled up and down my forearm in protest, making my eyes water, though it was likely from the terror climbing up my throat.

_ I should apologize and hurry away _ , I told myself, but the words wouldn’t, couldn’t come.

“Come this way,” a voice from the bottom of crypt said. The cloak billowed and swayed as the Druid turned in a smooth motion as if on strings.

I could only obey. My face was white, my painted lips standing out like a fresh wound. The pain in my hand distant and forgotten. My body was on autopilot, my legs moving of their own accord, I couldn’t hear save for a high pitch whine in my ears like tinnitus. I could see the back of the Druid, voluminous robes like dark water. Distinctly, my heart throbbed, its beat reverberating throughout my body.

Where was he taking me? To be punished most likely. I was treading in halls where I had no business being in, a non-Galra interloper would get no mercy, especially if it were a wayward slave in the Emperor’s vicinity. Torture or death may await me. The Druids have been known to select certain slaves and prisoners and take them away to their labs and they were never seen again or if they did return, they were irrevocably changed, like Shiro. God, I hope they’d kill me and be done with it.

A set of doors stood tall and grand at the end of a long hall. I was too dazed to see where we were going, what turns we took or how far I walked. Sentries stood at attention and the doors opened at the Druid’s approached. The interior was darker save for the deep violet lights. As soon as I stepped into the hall after the Druid the doors swept shut behind me and I could barely see, my eyes slowly adjusted to the sudden dark.

The hall was short and we soon came to an elevator. Being in an enclosed space with the Druid did little to ease the disquiet that made my hands shake. The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened to the dull roar of the coliseum. A metal pillar nearly a story high, forked at the top, the ends tilted inward, the tips almost touching. I stared at it perplexed for a moment and then my head swam and my stomach spasmed. I pressed a hand over my mouth to stop the silent scream crawling in my chest.

I was in the Emperor’s private box and the pillar before me was the back of His throne. I couldn’t have been more frightened than if I had been at the gates of Hell. My breathing was struggled as if my lungs were full of thick cotton. My spinning head wouldn’t allow me to focus. Hysteria was lurking at the edges, threatening to seize around me like a trap. I was about to go into shock and faint right there in His box and if that happened, it was questionable if I would ever wake.

_ Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray to Lord my soul to keep. _

**_Lord Zarkon, Emperor of the Empire, Lord of Known Universe, raised the Empire in the Ashes of his Enemies. To serve Him is life, To serve the Empire, is servicing Him._ **

_ If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. _

**_My body belongs to the Empire. My body serves the Empire. Vrepit Sa._ **

“Kneel,” the crypt dark voice of the Druid instructed. It wasn’t an order, nor did it seem anger or impatient. Perhaps he sensed I was nearing the precipice of a psychotic break and needed a little push in the right direction. They wouldn’t get whatever they wanted from me if I passed out.

Automatically, Madame Floentha’s intensive training took hold and I began breathing again, my head cleared, and I lowered myself onto the cold floor. I pressed my brow against the cold surface and squeezed my eyes shut. It felt as if I was laying my head on a chopping block. A susurration of cloth brushing across metal touched my ears. A piece of ice slipped along the length of my spine as the sound drew closer.

“What were you seeking?” a feminine voice spoke. It was low, almost sibilant and echoed with demand.

“The Arena Master,” I said. It was like I was being cut open and parts of me was being taken out. I could hide nothing.

“Why?”

“Shiro - the Champion still lives. I want the Arena Master to save him,” my voice cracked, thinking it may already be too late.

There was indistinct murmuring. The woman was speaking to someone, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying. I waited, not daring to move one iota out of place. I strain my ears to hear, but the roar of the audience dulled my ears.

Then a voice borne from rock and gravel spoke, **“Send the woman back to Zenana and treat the Champion’s wounds. Haggar, I’ll entrust you with the rest.”**

***

I had broken my middle finger when I hit Takor, but I wouldn’t learn that for a while yet. The further away from the Emperor, the clearer everything became for me. I was no longer in shock and found it easier to breath. No longer near panic and being calmer I could think clearly. Shiro was going to be alright now. I had found helped, not from whom I had expected, but it was help nonetheless. My mind was too exhausted to think of the implications until I was with Ulaz.

Sentries took me to the shuttles and back to Zenana. It was a very lackluster greeting than I was expecting. There was no Madame Flo ready to bludgeon me with a fan, instead a Zenana sentry was awaiting my arrival and was escorting me to my room until I told it I needed a doctor. I revealed my swollen hand and by Zenana’s protocols, any injured Courtesan was taken to their assigned physician and Ulaz was mine.

The sentry sent a message about my condition and a few minutes later, stated Ulaz was awaiting me in his office. I anticipated seeing him, wanting to unload everything that had happened since the disastrous fight. Seeing him thrilled me; sending waves of exultation through my spirit, so it was quite jarring to see him frowning at me when I was brought into his surgery.

“Sit down. I don’t have much time,” he told me, pointing at a chair. “I’ve been summon to oversee the Champion’s recovery.”

Resisting the urge to speak, I quietly went to the chair and bared my hand which had turned red. Without speaking, he treated my hand, giving me a small steroid injection to ease the swelling and a rubbery splint for the middle finger. The more he worked, the more worried I became. Though he was mostly silent whenever he treated me, there was warm affection. Small touches, quick caresses, sometimes leaning in closer than necessary to bring his face close to mine. This was different. He was very professional, touching me only as necessary with light touches with no warmth.

“Ulaz,” I said reaching to touch him with my good hand.

He turned away before my fingers could graze his arm. He carried the tray of tools over to a counter and set them down with a clang, rattling them. I flinched, now realizing his frigidness was directed at me. Was he angry that I had endangered myself?

“I had to . . .” I said, standing, longing to go to him. “They were going to throw Shiro into the incinerator . . .”

“No, they weren’t,” Ulaz said, still not turning to look at me. His broad back was hunched over the counter, his hands spread out before him as if they were all that was keeping him upright.

“You weren’t there . . .” I started.

“I didn’t have to be. It was part of the plan, Bridget.” Then he finally turned around and I saw the blatant anger in his eyes. His white lips were a grim line and his gold eyes glowed hotly.

“I . . . I don’t understand . . .”

“You think I wasn’t aware of what happened in the fight?” Ulaz didn’t yell which unnerved me as I grew up among Irish men who didn’t refrain from raising their voices when angered. “Shiro was to be secretly taken to a ship where I was waiting with surgical equipment to save his life. We were smuggle him out of Central Command system and free him.”

I stared nonplussed, still not understanding. “The man in the slave pits was going to throw him into an incinerator.”

“That man is one of ours. His role was to get Shiro out of the slave pitsand fabricate a lie that he had burned the body, but he couldn’t do that because you chased him away.”

“Why didn’t he tell me!?” I moaned, my head swimming from sickness grabbing at my throat.

“In front of your escort and the caretaker? He tried to tell you in the only way he could.”

_ Please, stop interfering. You don’t know what it is you are doing. _

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I said sitting down, clutching my head with both hands.

“Because I had no idea when we could carry out the plan.” UIaz said sounding very tired. “We had to wait until the right moment; when Shiro had been publically injured enough to warrant the story of his passing away in the slave pits. That way, with Zarkon believing him dead, then he could go free without being sought by the Empire, but you told them he was still alive so now he remains in their clutches and out of our reach.”

Wretched tears spilled down my face. I couldn’t look at him, I could barely be in the same room as him. “Why didn’t you tell me you were planning on getting Shiro out?”

There was silence save for Ulaz drawing a deep breath and slowly letting it out. I counted the seconds, waiting. Finally, he said, “Knowledge is sacred. My sect doesn’t share knowledge easily and only with those we trust.”

I swallowed a lump in my throat. “You don’t trust me?” Again, there was another silence and he looked at me for a long time. I waited, my hands slowly curling into tight fists. “Well?”

“I do trust you, but not with everything,” Ulaz said slowly. “You are still a novice. You have done very well and you have aided us in countless ways, but even still, there are some things I cannot share with you. Not because I don’t trust you, but because you wouldn’t know how to use the knowledge.”

“Don’t take the piss out of me!” I said hotly. “If you had told me . . .”

“And what? You would have told Shiro and he would have wanted to know more such as who we are and the plan itself. Perhaps he would have tried to injure himself on purpose putting himself in more danger than if he had been fighting for his life. Zarkon may have seen through the charade and had the incident investigated,” Ulaz explained, folding his arms and leaning his back against the counter. “In your people’s own words, loose lips sink ships. You may be angry and feel sorry what has happened, but your actions have proven that you cannot be trusted with sensitive information.”

I was infuriated beyond words. How dare say that to me? After everything I had done for him, for his sect, for the Blade of Mamora. How many times have I endured pain and humiliations to get them information? I’ve gone through rape after rape to bring him data and he had the fucking audacity to say that to me? I wanted to hit him as hard as I had struck Takor.

Instead, I pointed a finger at him as if I could call down lightning to strike him dead, “Fine! Next time you want intel, you can go to the Commander’s bed in my place!  After everything I had gone through and done for your sect, I deserve some fucking respect!  I deserve more than this!  I do!”

He stood there and listened to my diatribe, taking my verbal lashes with a straight face, never speaking or reacting to my words. He had taken far worst from me before today. When I was finished, when I was quiet, did he speak, “Your suffering has not gone unnoticed. I have made certain my peers are aware of how the information has been attained and they have used it to save lives and strengthen rebel cells. You may not be able to see it, but you have been making an impact for the cause.”

I closed my eyes, my lips pressed in a tight line. He promised in the beginning, my suffering would be worth it, but . . . “Is that why you haven’t freed me? Because you want me to keep giving you intel?”

“No,” Ulaz said adamantly. “We have to wait for the right moment. When it comes and I promise you it will come, we’ll get you out. You have my sword as a Blade.”

I realized that I was jealous of Shiro. He almost got to go home and would have gone home if I hadn’t so foolishly interfered. He could have been freed of his cage, but I had slammed the door shut. I have been guilty and remorseful for many things in my life, but this was the worst. Worst, because in a wicked, sick way, I was glad Shiro wasn’t leaving me, that I wouldn’t be the only human in this hell.

I hated myself for it.

“What’s going to happen now?” I resigned to hating myself later and hoped there was something I could do to rectify what I had done.

“We wait and see. I’m to oversee Shiro’s recovery so I won’t be available for a while which concerns me as you have Madame Floentha’s wrath to deal.”

“I can handle whatever she does,” I said, remembering back to my first months in Zenana. I eerily remembered the freezer which maintains a painfully cold temperature and douses you regularly with freezing water. It monitored your heart rate freezing you to the point where you wished you would die, but warming just enough to keep that from happening.

“Then you should go rest,” Ulaz said turning away and placing the tools in a sterilizing liquid. “I’ll let you know when I return.”

I didn’t want to leave it like this. I wanted to say something, to make certain things were still okay between us. “Ulaz, I’m sorry. I didn’t know - I would never . . .”

“It’s done,” Ulaz said without turning around. “Let us speak no more of it.”

I wanted him to look at me, to smile at me, to tell me it was alright, but it wasn’t alright. I had royally fucked what should have been the perfect escape for Shiro and Ulaz’s team had put themselves at risk for a fruitless endeavor. As I was taken to my room, I thought over and over of how I should have known, how I shouldn’t have run off like some blind idiot.

I was so full of remorse and regrets, I had missed something just as unsettling as thwarting Shiro’s escape, something that deeply worried Ulaz as he would later tell me. I had personally drawn the attention of the Witch.

***

It wasn’t long before I was summoned to Madame Flo’s office. I had scarcely gotten two hours of sleep before my room chimed in an annoying voice saying that I was requested ( _ ordered _ ) to answer the Madame’s summons.  I pulled on a wrapper and brushed my hair. I forewent shoes and walked barefoot down the long hall, through the lounge, and to Madame Flo’s office where I had gone what had been only hours now felt like years ago.

I drew stares as a went. Some of the girls coming and going would pause to watch me go. The almighty rumor mill of Zenana was already in full swing and the stories ranged from I assassinated my patron and had attempted to escape to me sneaking into the Emperor’s private box to seduce Him. One thing I learned early on in Zenana was to never try to dissuade a rumor as the mill will turn regardless of what you say or do. Sometimes rumors can aid you in ways you can’t foresee just as they can later hurt you.

I didn’t see how this rumor would help me when I entered Madame Flo’s office. It was quiet, only the burbling fountain could be heard. I missed Madame Flo’s hush conversations through comms, her tapping away at her terminal, and the rustling of papers. She was standing behind her desk, the fur between her ears slightly ruffled and she was wearing a long dark robe that spread out in a U shape on the floor behind her. She wordlessly watch me come inside, her pupiless yellow eyes following me.

I sat primly on the chair, or would have if my feet could touch the floor. She had removed the chair meant for shorter visitors, likely to make me as uncomfortable as possible.

She tapped her claw tips on the desk’s corner. “I spoil you girls. You have no idea the lengths I have gone to protect you all.”

I said nothing and waited, sitting as still as possible.  _ Protect us from what, _ I wondered.

“Centuries ago, Zenana was a very different place. Have you ever heard of the Room of Pain?”

I shook my head, “No, Madame.”

“Or about the Playroom?”

Again, I shook my head, “No, Madame.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Madame Flo said as she tapped her claws again on the corner. “My predecessors worked hard to remove them from Zenana which once catered to all tastes and desires. They had the vision of turning this place into something more than just some tasteless degrading hole in space.”

_ Isn’t that what it is already? _ I thought, but stayed silent, but my misgiving must have shown on my face for Madame Flo’s eyes flashed like twin suns.

“Since you don’t know, let me enlighten you, dear ignorant girl. The Room of Pain was where hapless men and women were tortured for the sick perversion of those who liked giving pain. The Playroom was where the children were kept. . .oh, now I see you understand.” A smile pulled at her lips when she sighted my blanching face. “Yes, Zenana used provide for all perversion, no matter the sickness, but that is far in the past and any requests I’ve received for what we don’t or won’t provide has been swept away. I will never allow Zenana to go back to those days as long as I am in charge of it.”

Then she glowered at me as if she could scorch me with her gaze. “And for me to stay in charge, I must prove I can control my girls.” She turned around towards a painting that hung behind her desk. It was of a female Galra standing in a garden wearing a long white dress. Instead of roses, the flowers had long petals that dangled as if wilting and they were fearsome looking thorny vines. “I have had my position questioned by displeased patrons who make unreasonable demands, but they are merely complaints easily ignored or placated. However, I cannot ignore it when one of my girls drugs her patron and runs wild at the arena. You bribed your escort, went from the very bottom to the slaves, and to the top where the Emperor, may he reign for a thousand centuries more, was enjoying the fights.”

I lowered my eyes, feeling shamed, not for ‘running wild’ at the arena, but for ruining Shiro’s chance at freedom. “I’m very sorry, Madame Floentha.” 

“Please, don’t lie to me. You don’t feel one modicum of guilt over your actions,” Madame Floentha lowered herself behind her desk, adjusting her robe around her. “But I am sure you are very sorry that you were caught. I don’t know which is galling, your actions or that you are so churlish and ungrateful for everything I’ve done for you.”

Everything she’s done for me? I raised my brows in surprise, but she took it as a questioning look. She sighed as if she forced to explain something complicated to a small child. “You’ve come from an isolated primitive planet. You were brought here wounded, feral, and uneducated in the ways of serving, but I took you in despite my better judgement. When I first saw you, I wanted to turn away and cast you aside, let them take you off to some work camp or disease ridden brothel at the edge of the Empire, but I saw potential in you.  I saw what you could become so I took you in. I had your injuries treated, educated you on proper etiquette, and taught you the joys of embracing the Empire.”

As she spoke, she drew a black cheroot from an upper drawer and lit it. The sweet smell made my nose wrinkle and she exhaled the smoke slowly through her nose before continuing. “It wasn’t easy. Being an ignorant primitive, you didn’t realize what I was doing for you so you fought and you ran, and I had to take a heavy hand with you several times, but in the end you came around, you earned your place as a Courtesan with numerous patrons who adore you. I’ve never been so proud of such a turn around, but then you repay me with this humiliating debacle.”

She was speaking as if I was some poor orphan she adopted off the street and she was the benefactor from a Charles Dickens novel. Did she conveniently forget that I never chose to come here? Did she forget that this was sexual slavery she was operating?  I stayed quiet, deciding that silence was safe.

“I protected you as I protect all my girls. Anyone harms my dears, they pay a heavy fine or deal with the consequences,” Madame Floentha continued, staring over my head in deep thought. “My predecessors and I have turned Zenana into one of the top tiers of entertainment for our deserving soldiers. The echelons of the Empire has visited these halls, the might Halaz who who broke the Rikla’s Armada with a single fleet, Crishia who personally took the heads of the Duvas Lords, and Yerna who toppled the obstinate Krive Kingdom.”

Is she going to keep talking about Zenana or is she going to get around to my punishment? I watched her speak, noticing the far away look in her eyes. Then I realized that this was more than a job to her, this was more than just money or prestige. She actually believed in what she was doing, that she was benefiting the Empire and helping the primitives like myself. I didn’t just make her angry, she saw what I had done as a betrayal. I was in deeper trouble than I thought.

Finally, she looked at me and her eyes narrowed dangerously, like an angry cat’s. “What can I do to make you understand how wrong your behavior has been?”

“I know what I did was wrong, Madame Floentha,” I said softly, bowing my head.

“Hmm, well, firstly, your visits with the Champion are over. I knew from the start that he would have a bad influence over you.”  

It was all I could do to keep my hands from clenching into fists. “Yes, Madame.”

“Lord Tazik wants you whipped for what you done to him, but instead I think a few weeks down below will do you some good.”

I drew a deep breath. Down below was where I first started. I would be placed in a room where I would service visitor after visitor until I was allowed rest and food. I would also be required to attend parties and gatherings held in Zenana as table decoration and a companion of the night. If a girl impressed enough potential patrons, she was elevated to Coutesan where she entertained whoever was willing to pay Zenana for her presence in their rooms or outings. “What about my patrons?”

“I’m getting to that. You will also honor all appointments already on your schedule, but after that you will earn your place back among the Courtesans. I’m gracious enough to allow you to keep your room and gifts.” Then she took a long drag on the cheroot and expel the smoke through her shark incisors. “However, you will have one patron you will continue to entertain.”

My stomach twisted and I felt the blood rush to my head. “Who?”

“I warned you, Bridget, did I not warn you in this very room of what would happen if you should lose a patron?” Madame Flo said sternly. “Lord Trazik has withdrawn his funds from your account saying if he never sees you, it would be too soon. Commander Prorok will be coming to Central Command in three cycles. You will go to him in the fourth cycle.” She raised a hand, her claw tips gleaming, “Before you protest or say anything, it’s already done. I just finished speaking with him minutes before your arrival. I told him that rough treatment was not allowed, but he has my permission to take a heavy hand if you should step out of line, so I encourage you to be on your best behavior. You may go.”

I went back to my room with my soul desolated and terrified. I wanted Ulaz. I wanted to call him, to run to his office and throw myself into his arms. I wanted the last 12 hours back and undo them. I wanted Shiro. I wanted my husband. I wanted my father. And I wanted my baby.

I went back to my room and cried.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments or Kudos is much appreciated. 
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr through RebelCourtesan muse blog.


	22. Haxus

The Lion’s Den church had been built during the early 1900s and had endured for nearly two centuries without giving over to the modern changes over the years. It didn’t use a projector to display gospel lyrics for the congregation to follow in song instead relying upon old hymn books set in the back of the pews. The preacher had to be a man of strong voice and able to project it far as the church never installed loudspeakers. Instead of stereo and CDs, they had someone perform the hymnal upon an old pipe organ. It was the only church for many miles around during those early days and sported an impressive congregation of nearly 200 members back then.

In the passing of time, the congregation grew and waned as people joined, gave birth, and married, some even moving away to find better opportunities in the cities in the far north, and the numbers suffered during war time when all the young men answered the call to protect their nation’s interests overseas. The church had endured being hit by a tornado, which spurred the congregation to build a large storm shelter beneath the church, and a burning during the anti-religion sentiment of the 2060’s.

A few years ago, the church maintained itself with a meager fellowship of fifty members, mostly consisting of older couples who manage to bring their children and their grandchildren to church each sunday. Once the Galra began orbiting Earth, the congregation had a huge boost of members, nearly numbering back to 200. Most people sought answers in God and religion when the Galra arrived, despite many people declaring the proof of sentient life beyond Earth was proof of God’s non-existence.

After the invasion, Galra disallowed any unauthorized meetings and that included organized religious services. The devout took to meeting in living rooms and basements to continue prayer groups and fellowship, but the churches remained empty, being taken over by Galra to serve as warehouses. The ones that Galra ignored were the ones far from municipal areas such as The Lion’s Den.

That was taken over by Margery Kayla who delighted in renaming it as the Drug Den, reflected boldly on the white church road sign at the turnoff.

It was the sign that Haxus saw as his groundcar as it took the turn, throwing up clouds of red dust and spraying gravel in their wake. The church itself was more than two football fields length away from the turnoff and it was a one story wooden structure. The steeple reached toward the clear sky with the odd little plus sign at the top. Haxus wasn’t much for religion, much less alien religions, but he always took notice of patterns and the plus sign, or cross as the humans called it, was figured heavily in the major religion in the area.

He checked his gun, a habit of his as during one mission a jammed gun nearly costed him his life. He had spent nearly a month in intensive care recovering from that incident and had no wish to repeat it. He brought with him a squad of sentries led by two men and Vix. Vix never saw much combat, but he was a decent shot at the shooting range.

The church was surrounded by a tall chain-link fence, installed for protection against future burnings. As the groundcars drew near, several human men came out through the double wooden doors all bearing clubs and sticks. Firearms had been prohibited once Galra rule was implemented throughout the region so the human miscreants had to make due with knives and clubs as they did long before firearms could be found in the public’s hands.

The men stood solidly at the locked gate, like a second barrier, and glowering as the Galra and sentries climbed out of the vehicles. At the front was a tall man of a solid frame that could be anything between fat and muscle. He must have been a very muscular man in his youth, but years had loosen the muscle into roundness around his waist and hips. His eyes were dark and fierce, offsetted by the sunburned skin atop of a balding head.

Haxus lead the way, keeping his gun holstered, but walked forward with a confidence, not showing one modicum of caution. The sentries took a V shape positions behind him, walking with guns at the ready. His men trailed behind with watchful and alert. Vix stayed back with the vehicles, waiting, his hand never straying far from the gun at his hip. They were the superior race with the guns and metal armor and elite training, not these primitives with wooden sticks and dirty looks.

The man spat, “Whatcha want, kats?”

One of the first things Haxus noticed upon his arrival on Earth was the word kat being used in hush tones by the humans whenever he or any Galra was around. A human would glance in their direction and whisper it in a cohort’s ear. He had seen the word painted in graffiti on buildings with death threats and insults. He inquired about it with Thace out of curiosity.

“Oh that,” Thace shrugged his shoulders dismissively. “I’m so used to it I fail to notice it anymore. The humans adore their racial slurs and ‘kats’ are what they use for Galra. Most likely we remind them of their feline animals. In London we were referred to as Cheshires and in larger northern cities we’re called Fritzes and Felixes. The worst one I’ve heard is Pussies.”

Haxus didn’t let the slur faze him, but he let his greater height loom over the man despite the fence between them. The man barely refrained from flinching, likely not yet used to being towered over. Haxus took no small pleasure in the man’s discomfort. “I demand an audience with Margery Kayla.”

The man flashed a grin missing several teeth. “Never heard of her.”

A younger man with sandy blonde hair snarled, “Never heard of that bitch. You want bitches, you go to  _ Bruisers _ . They got all the alien dick guzzling whores you could want.”

Embolden by the show of bravado, the men brandished their clubs, snapping off further insults and threats. One, a boy barely out of childhood, grabbed a rock from the ground with a gleam in his eye, ready to throw at the first sign of a fight breaking out.

Haxus cleared his throat, already anticipating the resistance, “Sentries, he has until I count to five to open this gate. After that, if the gate remains close, kill them all.”

It would have been a one-sided encounter. Laser bolts would have ripped through the small mob and powerful metal hands would have ripped apart the fence, and they would have assaulted the church with guns and the strength of the Empire behind them. But before his mouth could form the word ‘one’, the front doors of the church opened.

What happened next harken back to when he first saw the Emperor. He had been much younger then, having been elevated to an adjutant. He had been attending his then Commander at a conference planning the next crucial campaign to overtake a system that had long refuted Galra rule. The Commanders had been chatting, challenging each other almost to the point of exchanging blows, and loudly declaring their achievements would strengthen the Empire. It was a den of noise where he could barely hear himself think. Then the doors opened, revealing the Emperor with his advisor, the Witch, at his side. Silence cut through the den more sharply than a sword. All voices died and all bent the knee in one smooth motion as the Emperor approached the war table.

When the doors opened, the mob lowered their weapons and turned as one. Standing in the doors was a woman with long black hair. She was squinting at them with a hand shielding her eyes from the sun. She was wearing a black rector’s robe opened down the middle showing off a black bra and red flannel pajama bottoms tucked into worn work boots. There was a vibrating hum of fear from the men as the woman marched down the front steps and tread across the grass. Haxus had the scouring feeling that he was beholding none other than the mystifying Margery Kayla.

The big man, the leader, stammer at her approach, “Miss Kayla, I didn’t wanna wake ya . . .” All of his cocky bravado was gone and he was pale, the sunburn on his scalp standing out in a scarlet patch.

“So you stand out here in the fucking yard yelling like a goddamn cat in heat? Makin’ me come out here in this hot sun,” The woman berated, tromping through the mob. Upon closer look, Haxus could see she wasn’t young, nor was she old. “What did I say you do whenever our purple friends come along? Huh? What did I say for you to do?”

The man swallowed, his eyes switching between Haxus and Margery Kayla. “Open the gate, but . . .”

“Then why the fuck ain’t the gate open? We open our doors to our friends from beyond, you dumbfuck,” there was a pause, then her eyes flashed, “Well, why the hell ain’t you opening the gate, you stupid asshat! A trained monkey can do your fucking job, dipshit!”

The man nearly dropped his club in his haste to unlock the gate. The others backed away, giving them a wide berth, some reluctant, others nervous, but the gate was swung open, the bottom spokes dragging in the dirt. Haxus felt a bit disappointed, fully expecting a firefight.

Margery’s hateful gaze switched to a warm friendly smile, her eyes beaming with delight, “You wanted to see me? C’mon in so we can get out of this sun and get something cool to drink.”

_ Inviting us inside and offering refreshments, just as Thace said _ , Haxus thought as he motioned for his men and sentries to stand down. “My men are coming inside too.”

“Sure, hon, we got room for everyone. I wouldn’t want our purple friends to stand out in this heat with all that fur,” she turned around, giving him her back with no trace of fear or caution.

Waving for his men to follow, he trailed after Margery and halted when she suddenly stopped. There was a moment of silence and before he could inquire of the matter, she spoke coldly, “Did someone refer to me as a bitch earlier?”

The humans stepped back, leaving the sole offender alone in the center. It was the lad who made the quip about  _ Bruisers  _ whores shook his head, “No, I wasn’t talkin’ ‘bout you, Miss Kayla!”

“The first one to break his back gets a freebie,” Margery said casually, resuming her walk.

The youth only had time to shriek before the men were on him. Clubs and sticks rose and fell and the air filled with the wet sounds of flesh being broken and the crack of bones breaking. All the pent up rage they were going to direct at the Galra, they were unleashing on the hapless youth. Haxus watched the spray of blood for a moment before following Margery inside.

He was blasted by the smell of unwashed bodies and vomit. Crinkling his nose, he scanned the interior of the church. The pews were askew from the center and being used as makeshift beds and cots. Humans were scattered among them, some passed out on the pews, others sitting on the floor enjoying their drug high. A girl lay across the aisle between the pews and Margery walked across her back, leaving a boot print on the thin cotton shirt. The girl only managed to emit a painful whimper which Margery didn’t pay any heed to. To show he had no such concerns either, made a point to add his own boot print to the cotton.

The pulpit was cordoned off with a tall dark burgundy curtains. Margery swept one end aside and let him go inside first. Within he could smell air neutralizers keeping the air free of odors and there was a pallet of cushions and a loveseat. An oscillating fan hummed in the corner and next to it was an open cooler of ice with bottled beverages. Margery kicked off her boots and flung herself across the pallet, sinking into the cushions with her robe spread open beneath her. “Have a seat. Want a beer? Sorry, not your brew, but still good.”

Haxus remained standing. “I didn’t come here for pleasantries.”

“No shit,” Magery replied. “You guys don’t do anything without a reason. Whatcha need?”

Two sentries took their places on either side of him while his men stayed in the main church hall to keep watch. The sounds from the continuing beating outside could be heard over the fan and Haxus told himself the chill he was feeling was from the cold air from the fan. In the dim light, he noticed two things about her he hadn’t noticed before. She had icy blue eyes and she was wearing a necklace with a charm dangling between her breasts. It was a shard of metal with an elaborate design etched into the surface. She toyed with it, wrapping the thong around a finger, making the charm swing.

“Three soldiers have been found murdered and I have reason to believe you know something about it.”

“Murdered? Wow, I thought you guys were indestructible,” Margery said with a head tilt, not revealing any surprise or concern. “Why would I know anything about it?”

“You sold them drugs. Gall power, presumably,” Haxus replied.

“Honey, I sell drugs to everyone,” Margery waved her hands outward indicating the church. “If I sold you a block of cocaine and you walk outside and a lightning bolt strikes you dead, is that my fault?”

“And I also believe that you are responsible for arranging the abductions.”

“Now why would I do that?” Margery leaned forward, setting her elbows on her knees. “Why would I, the seller, want to harm my customers? Sorta bad for business, don’t ya think? And Galra are my best customers.”

“Unless you are working with rebels,” Haxus retorted.

Margery laughed, flashing teeth, “Why would I want to work with a bunch of grunts who can’t even afford toilet paper to wipe their own asses? I’m not some bleeding heart patriot who wants to live in a hole in the ground to fight the “good fight”. Besides, they wanna kill my best customers, still not good for business. I’m all about the money, honey.”

“My men will conduct a search of this facility,” Haxus said, his eyes flashing.

“Sure, go ahead,” Margery said unconcerned. She pulled a beer bottle from the cooler and popped it opened. “Do whatever makes you happy.”

Before Haxus could respond, there was a smell of fresh blood and a voice called from the behind the curtain. “Miss Kayla . . . “

“Yeah?” Margery called, irritation maring her happy smile.

“I . . .I managed to . . .break his back,” the voice sounded tired and sick.

Haxus’s brows rose slightly as Margery rolled her eyes and grabbed a second beer from the cooler. Pushing herself to her feet and moving to the curtain, she shouldered it aside and held out the bottle. “You get a free beer. Get that messed cleaned up outside. Our friends don’t wanna get that shit on their boots and clean yourself up, you look like a used tampon.”

Whether the recipient was glad to receive the beer or not, Haxus couldn’t tell as there was a quick word of gratitude and footsteps hastily beating an exit.

“Are we done?” Margery said resuming her spot on the pallet. “Money doesn’t just happen and I got things to do and places to be. Feel free to search if it’ll make you feel better about the situation.”

Finally, he realized what was irritating him most about this woman. She showed absolutely no trace of fear or agitation at his presence. He had been on over a dozen campaigns, hundreds of worlds, with seen thousands of species all submitting to Galra rule. This woman spoke casually to him as if they were - his fur bristled -  _ equals _ . She never lowered her eyes, bowed her head, or hunch her shoulders in submission. Sitting on her pallet as if it were a throne, she the queen, the church her castle, the addicts and thugs her subjects, and him, a Galra lieutenant of the mightiest army in the known Universe who by law now owned these lands were some dignitaries from foreign territory. Time to put the fear of the Empire in her.

“Perhaps, I’ll save myself the trouble and burn this place to the ground,” Haxus growled. “Perhaps it will rouse your customers to tell me what I need to know.”

The woman shrugged, “Doubt it. They’re so high they wouldn’t notice if you kick ‘em in the ribs. I know, cause I’ve done it several times to let off steam. It’s really cathartic, you should give it a try, you look a little stressed. Pain medicine wearing off?”

Haxus’s eyes burned amber. “What do you mean?”

Margery pointed at his shoulder. “You got shot and stabbed not two days ago, so you gotta be hurting. I got some meds that’ll take keep the edge off.”

How did she know? No, she was trying to distract him. Take back control! “I can have my sentries level this place if I don’t get the information I want . . .”

“Ya know, that’s not a bad idea,” Margery said rising to her feet, knuckling the small of her back.

“What?” Haxus demanded, grasping for the control that continued to elude him.

“Burning this place down. I got gasoline in the back for the generator. This place is dry wood so it’ll go up quick.”

He stared, blinking several times, then his face darken, “You dare to jest . . .”

“Charlie! Go get the gas cans from the back!” Margery’s snappish yell cut across his snarl like a knife through a spider’s web. She was a woman who knew how to wield her voice.

A man with a sallow pallor scuttled from a dark corner. He dashed out through a back door, the wooden floor creaking against his hurried steps. Margery was moved past Haxus, throwing open the curtain and barking orders for her men to get clear or get burned. Those who could comprehend her words were scrambling for the doors and the others, those too deep in the needle and chemicals to hear her stayed as they were.

Was she seriously going to burn this building down on a whim? Was she being spiteful or would burning this place hide some secret she rather he not find? “Stop! What are you doing!?”

Margery faltered, in mid-step. With one foot on the floor and the other on the pulpit, she regarded him with her cold blue eyes. “It was your idea, sir, and I thought it would be fun.”

“You would kill your buyers,” he said, grasping, “on a whim?”

She smiled, shaking her head, as if he was some kit who said something amusing, “I told you, Galra are my best customers. They’re the ones with the money, not these wastes.” She strode over to a woman sitting beneath a painted window and gave her a hard kick in the ribs. “This bitch paid for her hit by sucking my men’s dicks. The one over there,” she pointed at a man curled on his side, murmuring to himself, “paid for his with the boots I’m wearing, and one of these poor fucks brought his kid as payment.”

“You took a human kit as payment?” Haxus was getting more and more exasperated, not out of offense of a child being used in bartering, but no matter what he did, the situation was spiraling out of his control, though he was beginning to doubt if he ever had it.

“Yeah, regretted it instantly. The little shit kept crying and wouldn’t stopped until after I threw her against the wall a couple of times,” Margery rolled her eyes morosely. “Reminded me of my daughter. She whined too.”

The sallow man brought forward a red gas canister which Margery gleefully swung out of his hands, popping off the lid and began slinging the fuel over the pews and prone people. A few awaken from the smell of gas and from being wetted, others stayed as they were, one woman giggling high like a child.

She was going to do it? She was actually going to do this?

They vacated the building. Haxus stood outside with his men and sentries on one side of the yard while the humans, her men and those sober enough to leave stood at the other side.  From the corner of his eye, Haxus noticed one of the men holding the hand of a small quiet child. She was watching the church with large somber eyes.

Margery came out, stooping, leading a trail of gas from the church’s interior. The gas splashed over the steps and onto the grass. She tossed the gas can into the building and backed out, thumbing a lighter. Haxus looked out over the human crowd. None of them protested or took any action to stop her or showed any distaste for what she was about to do: burn down a holy building with people still inside.

Haxus watched Margery, trying to figure this out. Why!? It made no sense to him. What did she gained by doing this? What was she trying to prove?

A chill went down his spine when he realized what it was. Nothing. She gained nothing, but delight from this. Her eyes glowed with the joy of a kit being spun in the air by a father, she chewed her lower lip like a nervous virgin lover, and she breathed deeply like a young pilot experiencing the freedom of flight for the first time. Doing this made her happy. There was nothing to gain, nothing to prove, but have the sheer joy of destruction. The humans knew that too and understood it less than him. It frightened them, but what she might do when angered frighten them even more.

For the first time, Haxus understood what Leslie meant by the devil.

The lighter spun in an arc which ended beyond the doors. The heat washed over them in a whumph of red and orange. The Drug Den, once known as the Lion’s Den was burning again. This time, there was no congregation to put out the flames, there was no hurried lines of water buckets being passed from hand to hand hoping for the firefighters would come soon. Margery pumped the air with her fists, the explosion blowing back the rector robe, opening like wings catching the wind, and whooped. Her cry echoed over the crackling wood.

Glass shattered, wood crackled, and smoke sought the open air. Like Margery said, the dry wood went up fast. There was a shout from within and choking. Two people managed to make it out, smoke clogging their lungs and one man began vomiting on the grass, but no more came out.

From the corner of his eye, Haxus noticed one of his men speaking with one of the men from the human side. Arching an eyebrow, he tried to listen, but the fire droned out their voices. The man looked thoughtful, but nodded and motioned for the man holding the girl’s hand. An exchange was made: a handful of gac chits for the girl. The Galra soldier carried the girl back to the vehicles as she stared wide eyed at the fire over his shoulder, a finger in her mouth.

He was piqued that one of his own men would purchase a slave during an assignment, much less a useless child, unless he was a pervert that unsheathed for children. He’d have to report this to Thace when he returned . . . empty handed. The thought of it left a bad taste in his mouth.

***

And it was salt in the wound when upon his return, Thace requested him in his office. Likely to condescendingly ask for a report on his findings. When he arrived at Thace’s office, he was expecting to find Thace at his desk with his hands steepled and eyeing Haxus conceitedly over them. Instead, he was sitting back in his chair holding a bottle of Sintheit ale, a premium Galra brand, with a second bottle opposite him on the desk.

“Have a seat and help yourself,” Thace said. “I believe you need it.”

Haxus didn’t argue with him on that. He dropped into the chair, whisking the bottle off the desk and in one motion popped the top off and tilted it back. His throat bobbed several times, taking long pulls from the bottle and then gasping when he set the bottle down with a smack. Then he looked at Thace scornfully, “You could have warned me.”

Thace shrugged, “Would you believed me if I did? What did she do?”

“Burned down her drug den with half a dozen of her human customers inside.”

“Hmm,” Thace said morbidly impressed. “The last time I saw her she was arranging a dogfight between what they call a rottweiler and a junkie because she was bored.”

“And I supposed they all went along with it?”

“Of course. They were setting up ring by the time we left,” Thace said. “I used to think it was the drugs that grants her that kind of power over them, but it goes deeper than that. She has this magnetic charisma that draws them in, like a Fiartha Queen’s pheromones.”

“I think it's more out of fear,” Haxus muttered.

“Well, a lot of human history consists of mad men taking control and causing mass murder on astounding scales. There was this whole sordid affairs they call the Holocaust and Salem Witch Trials.”

Haxus took another long pull from the bottle, nearly draining it. He held it in hand, enjoying the warm flow of the liquor. “If she didn’t have anything to do with the murders, then she still knows something about them.”

Thace nodded, “Of course, but good luck finding out what that is.” He tilted his bottle back and Haxus noted the slight movement of his throat and jaw. He licked the edge of his mouth when he lowered the bottle, “What will you do now?”

“Put out some drones to sweep the desert,” Haxus said. “Maybe they’ll find something we missed.  I want there to be a security camera inside and outside of Bruisers from now on. If someone else goes missing again, we’ll see it happen.”

“I don’t think it will,” Thace replied. “The bodies have been dead for a while, as if they got whatever it is they wanted. At first, I believed this to be a hate crime or rebels, but they stopped after only three. Why stop at three when the district is full of our kind.”

“What I don’t understand is why?”  Haxus sighed.  “They only took certain parts from different men. Were they not able to get what they needed from the first, so they took a second, and when that failed, they took a third?”

“The humans say that things happens in threes,” Thace offered setting his bottle on the desk. The alchohol had brought a peaceful lassitude over him and he looked very relaxed and self-assured.  “Three is an important number for them such as their Holy Trinity; the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.”

Haxus blinked. “The what?”

“It’s quite interesting. The humans believe, at least the majority in this region of the planet, believe their god impregnated a virgin woman who gave birth to a wise man who preached his teachings far and wide, but was executed and came back to life after three days. They debate whether the man was an extension of their god or a man of his own intelligence.”

Haxus blinked again. It never failed to amaze him what lesser species believed in. “If she was impregnated by their god, then she wasn’t a virgin.”

“I don’t think that's how it worked for her.”

“Why?”

“Well, to provide the savior, of course.”

“No, why did you bother studying their asinine religion?”

“They’re a new species,” Thace replied, sitting back. “We’ve known of them for a few years and our academics are still studying them. Their culture is so complex with rich histories from every region of the planet.”

“When I was a child I collected holographic planets enfolded by the Empire,” Haxus muttered. “I didn’t give one whit about how they lived their lives or what they believed. I’m surprised you made it this far in the Empire.”

“Know your enemy like you know yourself,” Thace said with a small hint of a smile. “I think our Commanders could benefit from the writings of Sun Tzu or Machiavelli.”

Yes, this was why Thace’s career will stagnate on this dirtball of a world. This interest in a xeno-culture was for scholars, not for Imperial soldiers. Not that Haxus was xenophobic as he had known others to be; he just knew the superiority of the Galra Empire and why they reigned supreme over all others was they understood strength was what mattered in the Universe. He had seen space and it was lethal and unforgiving. Roaming black holes eating stars, asteroids ready to knock all life off a planet, and flesh melting gamma rays. It took strength to spread and conquer it all as the Empire.

Sentiment was never a strong suit for Galra, especially not for his parents. He had been the youngest child of a family of five eking out a living on a colony farm at the edge of the Empire. His birth had been accidental as all his other siblings had been old enough carry out chores and he was the screaming infant who needed more than what they could provide. He was given to the Empire to raise along with many unwanted children who were raised into becoming soldiers. He could remember every superior he served under, but he could barely remembered his parents’ name and never gave his siblings any thought. Haxus never entertained the thought that his family gave him up for his own good and not for theirs.

“One of your men called ahead saying he bought a child from Kayla’s group,” Thace said as he scratched a spot on his neck.

“I saw. Not very judicious of him to purchase a slave during a mission. I have no idea what he’s going to do with her, nor do I want to.”

Thace raised an eyebrow. “He wanted to know if I could arrange for her to be transferred to a district that had housing for orphans. He didn’t buy her to take as a slave, but to get her away from people who were harming her.”

For what seemed like the hundredth time that day, Haxus blinked nonplussed. “I don’t follow.”

Thace muttered something under his breath, but said, “He didn’t like how they were treating her so he got her away from them. He knows he can’t keep her here so he’s sending her to an orphanage who can care for her.”

Again, the thoughts refused to budge for him. “With his own money?”

“Yes,” Thace nodded slowly. “With his own money. It’s called compassion, don’t worry, it doesn’t bite.”

“I know what compassion is!” Haxus sputtered, getting angry, tired of others enjoying themselves at his expense. “It’s unfit for a soldier of the Empire. His career will suffer for it.”

Amusement died as Thace’s face darkened, “Why should it be considered negative to have pity for a helpless child?”

“The weak . . .” Haxus started.

Thace cut him off, “A child, Haxus, a small little girl. Not a cowardly soldier or a wounded enemy, but a small kit or cub, what have you. Surely you didn’t start life with armor donned and a weapon in hand. We all started off small and helpless at the beginning of our lives. Even the Emperor, though I am sure it was very, very long ago.”

This was borderline blasphemy and it was surprising to hear it from a lieutenant, even one with such unusual proclivities such as Thace. He tried to regain his handle on the conversation, “I am aware she is a child, but what I am saying is that she’s human, not Galra.”

“So if she was a Galra kit, you would have been outraged as he by the abuse?”

“Yes, of course, to think of aliens manhandling our children sickens me.”

Thace’s expression turned foul, “So, if I am hearing you correctly, it’s alright for Galra to abuse Galra and non-Galra children and it’s permissible for aliens to harm children, as long as they aren’t Galra children. Is that what you’re saying?”

Oh, by Lord Zarkon’s blood, again a conversation was being railroaded away from him. “Do not put words in my mouth.”

“I’m not. I’m only listening to the words coming out of it. If I was a beating a human child, you wouldn’t think anything of it, unless I was a human beating a Galra child, am I correct?”

“What is with you and humans?” Haxus’s voice raised several octaves more than he would have liked. “Why are you do infatuated with them?”

“Let me use a different example. Let’s say I’m a Balmera . . .”

“Those dirt eating rock people?” Haxus said incredulously.

“Well, this conversation has been enlightening.”

“Would you shut up!?” Haxus snarled, slamming a fist onto the desk. “I just had the most fucked up experienced of my career and then I get interrogated about morality and human culture. I had no idea you felt so fucking strongly about this shit and excuse me if I don’t share your warped sentiments.” Then Haxus expression turned nasty. “Tell me, does fucking the woman make you like this or was it fucking the boy?”

Thace’s scorn melted into a blank look, but the anxiety was there in his eyes. “What boy?”

Haxus tilted his head, “Keith. The youth who was part of the incident a while back. Oh, please, I didn’t get where I am without noticing things around me.” He leaned on the desk, bring his face inches from Thace’s. “You barely looked at your woman, wouldn’t even touch her, but as soon as your pretty Keith comes in, then you were off like a Kalla bird at the sound of a feed bucket. I saw you hovering over him like a besotted kit with a schoolyard crush.”

The lieutenant's eyes leveled with his. “I think it's time for you to leave.”

“Oh, I did hit a nerve,” Haxus said sardonically. “No need to be shy about your feelings. C’mon, tell me what you think of adults being attracted to young men half their age.”

“This conversation is over. Let me show you to the door,” Thace stood and stalked around the desk. As he went, he wrapped his fingers around Haxus’s upper arm and pulling him out of the chair.

Haxus’ feet skipped on the floor until he was propelled against the wall next to the door. His back slammed into it knocking the breath from his lungs. Thace’s face was close, his breath becoming the air Haxus could take. “You must have huge balls to come into my office and drink my ale and call me a cock chaser to my face, Haxus.”

“You’re the one talking about balls, Thace,” Haxus gave him a rictus grin, baring sharp teeth, “Have you shown yours to your pet human yet?”

The punch, though expected, still took him by surprise. He tasted blood, ducking his head and shoulders and then coming up with an uppercut across Thace’s chin. The lieutenant stumbled backwards, dazed, but recovered quickly, locking with Haxus in a grapple. He scored some blows into Haxus’s ribs and felt claws raked across his shoulders.

They struggled, pedaling each other across the room, knocking over chairs and banging into walls. Haxus cursed insults under his breath and Thace hissed nastily, teeth snapping dangerously close to his ear. Thace’s back hit the desk hard, upending items and knocking some off the surface. Haxus managed to get an up arm and across Thace’s throat, forcing distance between them. His opponent uttered a strangle growl, his lips tight over gleaming incisors and eyes fierce with violence.

“You know,” Haxus wheezed through hurt ribs. “This is a sexy look for you.”

He ran his tongue across Thace’s lower lips, coming a hair’s breadth of having it bitten off. Their eyes held each others for a heartbeat, then two. Then on the third, Thace grabbed Haxus by the ears and smashed his lips against his mouth. Tongue and teeth warred with each other for possession of the other’s mouth and Thace was lifted until he sat on the edge of the desk, knees apart with Haxus standing between them, surging his body against his.

A tear rented the air as Thace’s bodysuit ripped down the center, exposing his upper body. He growled a protest, shoving at Haxus’s shoulders, but he was not to be deterred. Bending his head, he pressed his face into the hollow of Thace’s neck and shoulder, mouth seeking the pulse there. The sweat beneath Thace’s fur filled his nose, sending heat rushing to his sheath, feeling the swelling pushing against the front of his pants. Polished boots squeaked against the floor as he shoved Thace down onto the desk, legs open, and ripping his pants down his hips.

Thace’s sheath was already swelled, the slit at the top expanding as his member made its appearance. With one hand, Haxus freed himself, his cock already reaching up from the sheath. Licking the palm of his hand, he rubbed it over the head, over the small barbs at the under edges of the bulbous tip and part way along the shaft. Thace watched him, his eyes switching from his cock to his face, not the frantic nervousness of a lover being forced, but in anticipation, confusion, and in disbelief this was happening.

In one thrust, Haxus claimed Thace’s body, pushing forward, one leg over his shoulder and the other laying across his arm. With a throaty growl, he rocked his hips forward, pressing forward on the balls of his feet. Thace rolled his head over the edge of the desk, mouth opened, showing the white tips of his canines. Gold eyes glowed in a haze of lust and pleasure, blinking complacently in overhead light.

“You look like a blushing bride on her wedding night,” Haxus said huskily.

“Fuck you,” Thace moaned.

“Maybe next time,” Haxus pushed forward, his hand curling around Thace’s extended cock.

Thace climaxed just moments before he reach his. Haxus purred, his shoulders rising and falling, sweat trickling through his pelt. He was tempted to discard the upper half of his bodysuit himself, but he didn’t want to admit this weakness, even silently.  However he did lower himself onto the chair he had occupied twenty minutes earlier.

Thace rose from the desk, his cum clinging to the fur on his belly and Haxus’s seed trickling from his arse. He excused himself to the bathroom and cleaned up. When he came out, his was pulling on his bodysuit, pressing the seals back into place and leaning against the door frame. “I have some beers in a fridge behind the desk. Human beers, but they’re all I have.”

“That would sound lovely right now,” Haxus replied.

With beers in hand, they sat together, Haxus in the chair and Thace propped against the desk, but not as a men of rank, as something else. Neither of them were sure what it was, but it was different than before and couldn’t be as it was before. Sex had this way of changing the dynamics of a relationship, it can either add something to it or take something away, or completely change it. Knowing someone intimately, seeing their face in the throes of an orgasm, and touching parts of their body peeled off a layer between the two, bring them closer, though not always for the positive.

Thace was the first to break the silence, “So . . . how long have you. . .”

Haxus interrupted him, “I’m bisexual. I’ve known it for nearly fifteen years. You?”

“I’ve struggled with being gay for a long time before I accepted it,” Thace sighed, surprised by how much he was willing to reveal about himself to Haxus of all people.  

“What about the human woman?”

“I’ve been with her, but it’s not the same.  It’s just an empty, mechanical process with her,” Thace explained, placing one foot on a knee. “And no, before you ask, I haven’t touched Keith, though I thought of it.”

Haxus shrugged, “You have good tastes. He is a cute little bastard.”

Thace snorted, but smiled. He leaned forward holding the beer between both hands, “Tell me when you said maybe next time were you joking or . . . do you mean an actual next time?”

Haxus smirked, tilting his head and draining the beer bottle. When he finished, he licked his upper lip, “Well, I would want to do this somewhere more comfortable. I have a bed with stalla foam big enough for two, but you have to bring better drinks than this piss.”

“Fine, but next time I’m giving and you’re receiving. I want to see if you’re as much of a tight ass as others believe you to be.”

“Hmm, then a toast to next time.”

They clinked their bottles together.

***

“Iverson, we have to talk,” a silky voice with a southern drawl purred over the line.

Disgust crawled through his stomach as it usually did when he heard that voice. “What is it, doctor?”

“There’s been a bit of a hiccup. One of my guys weren’t as careful as they were supposed to be and the Galra found the bodies.”

“Sonuvabitch,” Iverson growled, his hand clenching the radio. “Are they on to you?”

“No, I’ll be fine, but I’m gonna hafta lose some dead weight, go underground for a bit until things cool down. Think your boys can handle themselves if I cut ‘em loose?”

Iverson groaned, hating being in this situation to choose between missions, but what the doctor was working was too important to the cause. It could change everything, it could turn the tide in their favor for once. “Yes, I think they can handle themselves. They’re not babes in the woods.”

“I’ll give them a little something to help them out,” the woman crooned. “I won’t totally abandon them.”

“Well, aren’t you a fucking peach,” Iverson said rolling his good eye.

“And just as sweet,” she said in a voice that Iverson believed would have been more suitable for phone sex. “Ta, ta, Iverson.”

“Good luck, Dr. Kayla.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments or Kudos is much appreciated. 
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr through RebelCourtesan muse blog.


	23. Thace

He had been ten years old when his father killed himself.

The days leading up to that fateful night had been celebratory. His father had been promoted for accomplishing a crucial mission that ended a campaign victoriously, thus strengthening the Empire. It was a promotion that would raise them up in the Hierarchy and grant them the privileges reserved for Elites. It was a well earned and father received leave to return home to arrange his family’s movement in the social ladder.

However, father kept to himself inside his study while Mother was the one to make the arrangements for the move. They were going to one of the inner colonies, closest to the Heart of the Empire. It was there, Thace would be enrolled in the Academy when he came of age and serve the Empire as his father. With his father’s promotion, his chances of attaining a higher tier of education would increase, but he still needed to study hard as the competition would be fiercer.

He had stayed up that night studying late and had gone downstairs for his favorite beverage, a flavored carbonated cream that tickled his nose when he popped the lid off. Mother hated the drinks, saying they would stunt his growth if he continued to drink them, but she bought them anyway as small rewards for good reports from school.

As he was returning upstairs, he heard the sounds down the hall, several doors from his bedroom. They were coming from Father’s study. At first, he thought Father was having a bad cough until he realized they were sobs. Why was someone crying in the study? The door was open a crack allowing him a peek.

His father was bent over his desk, hands grasping the fur between his ears, and his shoulders shook with each ragged sob. A bottle of Sintheit ale stood open next to an empty glass. The study reeked of drink and  _ cedair  _ which was surprising as mother would never allowed father to smoke in the house before. Doubtless, she was too thrilled with his promotion to care.

“Father?” Thace called stunned. He had never seen his father, much less any adult male cry like this.

His father raised his wet golden eyes. “Thace? What . . . what are you doing up this late?” His voice was creaking, weak, almost pathetic.

“I was . . . studying,” Thace hid his soda cream behind his back, “Should I get mother? Are you sick?”

His father leaned back in the high back chair. “No. I - I’m alright. Come here.”

Thace hesitated. He was never allowed in the study even while Father was away on duty.

‘You’re not in trouble. Close the door behind you,” Father said kindly, his eyes blinking rapidly. “We don’t want to wake your mother, do we?”

No, they didn’t. They came back late from shopping for the new clothes they’ll wear in their new home. Thace spent what seemed like hours trying on new clothes and Mother moaned whenever she misjudged his size and complained of how he would soon outgrow the ones that did fit. Galra kits grew fast compared to other species. Galra parents would often buy clothes several sizes too big for kits to grow into and those of lower income and multiple kits utilized the hand me down system.

Thace dragged a chair from the corner of the study to the desk, bringing him closer to the strong smell of the open bottle and the odor of unwashed Galra male. Sitting in the large adult chair, his feet could almost touch the floor, but not quite yet. Maybe before his next birthday, he would sit like adults without his feet bobbing in the air. Right now, his stature didn’t concern him right now, his father did.

Serving the Galra Empire as a soldier had taken his father from home for long stretches. As far back as Thace could remember, he would only see his father via the extranet through expensive live feed. When he was really little, he believed Father lived inside the communications hub they owned and had once open the back to get his father out. On those rare occasions when Father did come home between tours of duty, he got to stay home from school to be with his father, this huge male that would toss him up in the air as easily as an air ball and wrestle with him on the floor. He seemed very happy to be home, unlike now.

His father barely spoke since his return. Thace doubted mother noticed as she had been so delighted over the promotion. She praised the Emperor’s name and had taken on arranging the move to their new home. Father let her do as she pleased, retiring himself early to bed and spending time alone in his study. Thace thought it was because Father was worried about moving, yet there was a ‘wrongness’ about the adult male. Something wasn’t right and it worried Thace that his mother hadn’t noticed, so swept up in their new elevated status.

Perhaps if she had, then maybe she could have prevented what happened that night.

Father was silent for a long time, thoughtfully tapping his fingerpads on the desk. The dull thumps made Thace’s ears twitch slightly as he waited patiently, his large golden eyes on his Father. He held his drink between both hands, wondering if it would be okay if he opened it there, and realizing he would be too nervous to enjoy it. His father was making him almost a little afraid.

The man had furry ears with white streaks at the temples. A lot of people who knew father said he had his looks, especially when he was thinking hard about something. It used to fill Thace with pride, but now it was worrying as he didn’t like how his father was looking right now.

“Are you excited about moving to a new school?” His father said finally.

He had been asked that question so many times he gave his automatic answer, “Yes, I am!”

Honestly, he wasn’t happy about going to a new school, especially one on a different world. He was going to miss his friends, Tobi and Rathi. They had been friends since they were little kits. They had played together, wrestled, and once overpowered one of the big kits between the three of them. He was especially going to miss Tobi who had sleek fur with angular ears which made him as pretty as a girl.

Yet, he didn’t dare say anything to indicate he didn’t wish to go. Everyone wanted to move up within the Hierarchy, his mother had told him. Only weaklings with no ambition were content with their status and Mother referred to them as leeches. He didn’t want Mother to think of him as a leech, so he nodded when asked if he was looking forward to going to a larger school and tried not to let his anxiety of leaving Rathi and Tobi behind.

“That’s good,” his father said slowly, his eyes on the bottle and then back to his son. “You’ll get a good education there. You’ll have opportunities you’ll find nowhere else. You could become a doctor, an engineer, or a scientist.”

Then Thace said something he would later come to regret. He wanted to please his father and everyone who asked what he wanted to do when he grew up and this seemed to please them. Maybe this will make his father happy hearing it.

“I want to be a soldier like you!”

His father looked at him. Instead of glowing with pride, it twisted into anger, then fell to pity, and then crumpled into sorrow. Fresh tears leaked from his eyes and followed the runnel in his cheeks left behind from his previous bout of weeping. Thace had only seen faces like this on the playground on younger kits being teased by bigger kits, but never on an adult’s face, much less a male and his own father. It was pain and sorrow and it confused him.

“Not like me,” his father croaked in a plea. “Never like me, son. You don’t know . . . you don’t - don’t know what I did . . .”

Thace was too afraid to speak. This had to be a silly, but scary dream he was having. His father couldn’t be weeping in front of him like this. Any second, he’ll wake up and this will all be a dumb dream he would forget. His father sniffled, his shoulders hitching from the effort. Then he leveled Thace with a sudden intense look. “Do you want to know what your ‘brave’ father did to earn his promotion?”

Thace still couldn’t speak. wanting very much to be back in his bed. He managed to nod his head slowly.

“I managed to take out the enemy’s munitions stockpile,” Father’s eyes became distant, looking at something that wasn’t in the study with them. “You see, rebel cells had been providing the enemy with weapons they had stolen from the Empire and I was tasked with finding and destroying it.”

Thace listened, slowly becoming entranced with the story, his fear and uncertainty slipping behind him. He loved war stories as he and his friends would swap any stories they heard and the best were the ones with their parents involved. Thace was certain he was getting the greatest story of all since this would be how Father got promoted.

“My commander was growling between my ears demanding I find the stockpile soon or I’d find myself in front of a firing squad. He was an ass so I believed him,” his father was still staring far off. His ears swiveling slightly as if catching noises only he could hear. “It took some time, but we eventually found it in deep in the jungle; thick with trees and hot, so very hot. My fur was soaked with sweat and reeked, but we found it.”

Here, his father paused, the tip of his chin quivering. HIs ears laid back, as if in sudden fright, but they raised high as if catching a distinct sound. “They had hidden the stockpile inside this building and covered it with a centuries old invisible barrier that was borderlining on malfunction. They had to have relied on the canopy for camouflage. Once it was on radar, I dropped several thermal detonators on the roof and let the explosives within the stockpile do the rest.”

Here, Father’s voice cracked, “I didn’t know there were families inside.” He covered his eyes, but Thace saw wetness trace his jawline. “They must have been so confident we would never find it that they hid the women and children there. The lucky ones died instantly, vaporized by the explosion, but those were few. The rest burned and screamed. Desperate mothers threw children from windows to escape the flames. Most of them were either too injured to run or were dead when they hit the ground. I still hear the screams sometimes.”

Thace was silent, his ears slanted back, nearly folded against his head. Stories weren’t supposed to be like this. This story didn’t praise the Empire or his father at all. It didn’t raise any sense of pride in him, but guilt and sadness and a bit of shame. He didn’t want to hear anymore, felt like he shouldn’t, that he would be doing something wrong if he continued to listen, but he wasn’t brave enough to leave. As if he was being held in place by the melancholy cloud hovering over his father.

“So they promoted me,” his father continued with a raw voice, “I murdered women and I was patted on the shoulder, saluted, Vrepit Sa, and rewarded with early leave.” Father refilled his glass and threw it back in one swallow. Then poured another and held up his second glass in a mocking show of a toast, “And as a Commander I’ll have my other lieutenants go out and kill more families, more innocents tossed into the meat grinder that is the Almighty Galra Empire, may the Emperor pick His teeth with their bones, that wretched bastard.”

Thace’s jaw dropped in horror. No one said anything bad about the Emperor. Nobody! Rathi received a terrible thrashing by his father for making up a rude song about Emperor Zarkon’s dirty underwear. And here was father, a soldier of the Empire, saying such things. He would not have been surprised if a Druid had then smashed through the door and roasted them alive with black lightning.

But nothing happened. No DruidS appeared, the doors and windows remained solid. His father drained the glass in one gulp and would have poured a third if the bottle held more. He pinched the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger and sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to burden you with this. You’re too young to understand. Go to bed, son. Your mother is taking you to shop for school supplies tomorrow so be a good kit for her, alright?”

“Yes sir,” Thace said, scooting off the chair. The can of cream soda was no longer cold, having been warmed in his hands during his father’s story and he had lost interest in it. He walked towards the door and looked back. HIs father was bent over the desk again, as he was when Thace first peeked inside, staring somberly at the bottle, his face marked with sadness. Thace felt something bubble up inside him, a need, a sudden desire to say something, but what? What could he say to a male who was supposed to be an effigy of what all Galra soldiers should aspire to, but was sobbing like a kit who had a bad dream? Thace said nothing and left the office.

The following morning, he would awake to his mother’s scream. Father had taken a gun he kept in his desk drawer and had killed himself in the night.

***

Thace’s chest swelled as he inhaled deeply. The scent of sex brought him back from those stressful days after his father’s suicide and into the present. It wasn’t a week later before mother enrolled him into an academy far from the scandal and then a month later, she remarried. His father had been brushed under the rug, forgotten like a torrid little secret, but his words had followed Thace throughout his life.

“Can’t sleep?” a groggy voice muttered.

“Just thinking . . .” Thace replied, his eyes still on the ceiling as they had been staring at for the last hour. Perhaps he was more tired than he thought as the following words fell from his lips, “about my father . . .”

He grimaced, his ears flicking back. He didn’t mean to speak about his father, least of all with someone he didn’t trust.

Haxus raised his head, his tired eyes becoming alert at this unwitting disclosure. “Is he the one who killed himself after receiving a promotion?”

Anger flared, folding his hears back momentarily before he forced them upward. Haxus knew who his father was just as anyone who could pull Thace’s records. The suicide had been a blemish on his career since the academy. Perhaps Haxus was being manipulative, trying to ease more information out of him by pretending ignorant, or perhaps he was being polite?

There was no sense in trying to hide it then. “Yes. He killed himself.”

Haxus yawned, his mouth wide, his tongue picketed by perfect white teeth. Then he closed his mouth with a click and regarded Thace through half closed golden eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, I don’t.” Thace rolled onto his side, giving Haxus his back. “Forget I said anything.”

The bed smell of sex and the taste of wine clung to his tongue. Haxus had been an experienced lover, both demanding and generous. His dark lithe body had responded to Thace’s touches, his hands roaming along the shapely back and hips. He had growled challengingly when Thace entered him, but submitted into rich purrs, thrumming with each stroke into his body. They had climaxed together, Thace collapsed atop Haxus, his chest rich with rumbling purrs as he licked Haxus’s long face, his teeth tugging at the edges of his sharp jawline.

It had ended wonderfully, but began awkwardly. Thace almost didn’t come to this rendezvous. It was a classic trap, seduce a deluded victim, lure him to a location for a tryst, and then spring the trap by publicly revealing his sexuality to the whole crew or base. It was a cunning way to dispose of a rival or enemy without resorting to sabotage or murder. Secretly gay Galra have transferred to remote outposts, foregoing rising in rank to escape the ridicule. Haxus was renowned for his ambition and taking down a disgraced lieutenant would be whimsical escape from the frustration of working the murder case.

Yet, would he go so far as to have sex with Thace if he only planned on betraying him? Wouldn’t that expose him as a proverbial ‘cock chaser’ too?

Despite his better judgement, Thace found himself heading to Haxus’ quarters in the late hours with a bottle of Galra wine labeled as the Emperor’s Blood. It was deep red color with a spiciness that spread from the tongue and down the throat. It was a gift he received from his mother for his last birthday. She was always mindful to send him something, perhaps to remind him that he had a mother, along with letters reminding him that it was time he married and offered him dossiers on prospective brides. Women who would strengthen the Empire by giving him strong sons, she said in her last letter.

Thace never looked at them, dropping them into a trash chute as he went out.

After three short knocks on the door, Haxus opened it, wearing nothing save for a pair comfortable pants. He ushered Thace inside and shut and sealed the door.

“I was beginning to believe you weren’t coming,” Haxus said inviting Thace to sit on the couch.

The quarters were meant for guests of the Empire, being roomier with comfortable furniture. There were few decorations save for the Empire’s emblem glowing from the far wall and a picture of the Emperor gazing determinedly at something beyond the frame.

Thace set the bottle on the small table and lowered onto the couch. It was deep with comfy cushions that whispered against his weight. His eyes followed Haxus as he disappeared into the kitchenette for glasses. Thace always had a thing for a dark colorings in regards to fur or skin color or hair and he found the subtle movements of Haxus’s body beneath dark purple fur enticing.  He bit the inside of his cheek to remind himself to be on guard. This could still be a trap or Haxus could be seducing him to gain something. Chances were likely this was more than what the humans refer to as a ‘booty call’.

Haxus returned with two sparkling glasses between his fingers. “You look tense. Nervous?”

“You could say that,” Thace replied slowly. “I’ve been thinking about this all day.”

“Oh, really?” Haxus’s eyes gleamed as he examined the bottle and then raised his brows impressed. “This is expensive brew. Sure you want to waste this on me?”

“It’s all I had at short notice,” Thace said and watched him fill their glasses. “We should talk.”

Haxus took a short pull from the glass and wrinkled his nose. “This is strong, good, but strong. I forgot how hard it kicks on the way down.”

Thace wasn’t to be deterred, “Haxus, what do you hope to gain from this?”

“Good brew and a few orgasms,” Haxus said smoothly taking a seat on the other end of the couch. “Same as you, I hope.”

“Don’t play games,” Thace said tersely. “If this is some ploy . . .”

Haxus held up a long finger hand. “I understand you have concerns and I don’t blame you. My reputation does precede me, but let me assure you by pointing out some facts. Firstly, I have nothing to gained by outing you as homosexual. How does your humiliation benefit me? I’m solely here to investigate our dead soldiers and once that’s complete I’ll be reassigned elsewhere or sent back to work under Sendak’s again. Secondly, I’m not afraid to admit I’ve been greatly stressed due to my injuries and my case.  I’ve always found sex to be a great stress reliever. Since I do not fancy the human females on this planet nor do I wish to out my sexuality by making an erroneous proposition to a Galra who does not share my tastes, then you are my only option.”

Thace grunted, “So I’m your only safe option for sex? I’m surprised you didn’t apply for a Zenana courtesan to accompany you.”

This time it was Haxus’s turn to grunt, his ears twitching. “Do you have any idea how much it costs to bring a courtesan this far out? That is, if they’ll even allow one to come the outer edge of the Empire. And there’s no challenge there. The women are so brainwashed, they’re practically dolls; simpering, little puppets eager to be receptacles for cum.”

Thace flashed back to a fearful, tear riddle face framed by coppery red hair. If she was still alive, she was in Zenana now. Perhaps it would have been kinder to kill her back then. He blinked, forcing his attention back to Haxus. “And how is this going to affect our work outside of the bedroom?”

“It doesn’t,” Haxus assured him. He laid a hand across Thace’s chest, smiling coyly at him, “I’ve had similar arrangements such as this before. I can compartmentalize my personal and professional life. What happens between us in the bedroom stays in the bedroom and what happens outside of it, stays outside. Anytime one of us wants to end this, just give the word and the other party respect the other’s wishes. No hard feelings, no tearful goodbyes, just done.”

Thace mulled over everything and found it all to be pretty sound. There were no holes in the logic he could perceive and he was becoming more and more aroused by Haxus. He linked his hand with Haxus’s and drew him close. “Alright. Here or the bedroom?”

“Let’s start here and let’s see where it goes.” Haxus’s eyes glowed, his lips slightly parted and his tongue touching the edge of his lips.

Now Haxus was drawing a hand across his chest, the tips of claws threading through the fur to brush the skin beneath. “It’s fine if you don’t want to talk. As I said before, what happens in the bedroom stays in the bedroom.”

But how much can I trust that? Thace thought. He was able to trust Haxus not to out their sexuality, but not what information could he gleaned from his personal life. Yet, how could this hurt him? It was a sordid affair that was easily discovered through a background check. However, his father’s suicide led to a road he rather Haxus knew nothing about lest it put him and his sect at risk.

“What about your father?” Thace inquired, turning onto his side, taking Haxus hand and drawing over waist.

“Never knew him. Or my mother,” Haxus said with a tilt of an ear. “I was a Child of the Empire, given up as the unwanted burden of a family who could barely feed themselves, but you’re deflecting.”

“Well, a father’s suicide is an unpleasant topic,” Thace said defensively, resting his head on the pillow. “And not one I imagined being proper for pillow talk.”

“You were the one to bring him up,” Haxus crooned, drawing himself close to Thace, nudging a leg between his thighs.

A rolling warmth spread through Thace’s stomach as he inhaled Haxus’s scent, pheromone oil still strong on his pelt and he could almost taste the Emperor’s Blood on his breath. He squeezed a hip and drew Haxus atop of him, cupping the back of his head, pressing forward into a long kiss.

Upon the kissing being broken, he looked over at the clock. They had a few hours before he had to return on duty, but they had spent little time sleeping since he arrived here. Before he could speak, Haxus burrowed his face into his throat, mouth opening wide to holding his pulse between his teeth. The sharp incisors were mere centimeters from piercing his carotid artery and it was the most erotic and intimate act of arousal between Galra.

Thace swallowed, his throat bobbing slightly, indenting the skin at his pulse against a tooth. Sweat was breaking out across his flesh, staining his fur and creating a musky scent that would notify Haxus of his arousal. A tongue prodded at his pulse before the teeth released their grip and sultry lips met his again, licking and nipping at his.

He was already swollen and extended beyond his sheath. It tilted across his belly, the small slit at the tip weeping. He wondered if Haxus wanted to give or receive this time and received his answer when his lover threw a leg across his waist and sat up, straddling his hips. Laying his hands on Haxus’s thighs, he drew his claws through the fur, across the flesh beneath, purring encouragements.

With one hand holding Thace’s member in place, Haxus lowered himself onto it, still well greased from their last copulation. Head tilted into the pillow, hands grasping Haxus’s firm buttocks, Thace lost himself in ecstasy, his throat vibrating from the intensity of his moans, moving in tandem with his lover. A voice at the back of his mind pointed out that this could be Haxus’s way of cementing this sexual-casual relationship or perhaps a way of distracting him from thinking of his father. Either way, Thace appreciated it and Haxus’s body and for finding someone on this woebegone planet to share this with.

Within minutes, they were both collapsed together, panting and purring in each other’s arms. Haxus laid his cheek on Thace’s, giving his ear a slight tug with his teeth, and whispered, “I’ll be busy for the next three days. I’ll message you when I’m next available.”

Thace drew a short breath and considered. He should end this. He had lovers before with other Galra, but not with one like Haxus who delved in information and noticed patterns. It wasn’t just his sexuality that he risked becoming public, it was the Blade as well. He was courting danger with this liaison.

“We’ll meet in your room,” Thace said curtly.

Haxus took no offence. “That’s fine. My bed’s comfortable enough anyway.”

Haxus fell asleep before Thace who continued staring at the ceiling. He thought of his father again. They called his father a coward; sometimes when they believed Thace was out of hearing or, the more cruel ones, to his face. Mother meant to get him away from the scandal by enrolling him into the Academy a few years early, but like any disgrace, it followed him, making him a target for bullying during his early years in the Academy. His father was a coward, therefore he must be a coward as well and a free for all who needed that rush of dominating another, even if the victim was several times smaller and weaker.

Thankfully, he had found an unlikely friend during those years, also a victim of the elitist bastards who ran the school. He had been an orphan taking from the streets of a colony world during a purge and being a Galra had been enrolled in the nearest Academy. If it hadn’t been for him, Thace had no idea how his life would have ended up.

Sleep finally claimed him. Dreams and memories cascaded. He would see himself sitting in the study, not in the side chair as a kit, but behind the desk as a grown man. He had eluded the atrocity his father had committed in his career yet the small ones do add up over time.

A small face fringed by dark hair and violet eyes brought him comfort as he descended into a deep, dreamless sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments or Kudos is much appreciated. 
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr through RebelCourtesan muse blog.


	24. Jodi

Not everyone made the cut. After initial examinations, most were deemed unfit and sent to the labor colonies in Canada and Texas. Those of us who made met their standard were kept in small rooms with a desk and terminal where we studied. Most of it was Galra history and propaganda brainwashing to instill in us of how lucky we were to be chosen to strengthen the Empire by serving those who served it.

It was like watching those films in schools. You know, when the teacher turns off the lights and orders all eyes front and starts the film, but there’s no creak of chairs and desks, the rattle of someone playing with a pencil, or the hushed admonishment from the teacher at a whisperer. It was almost lonely.

The message was clear without using too many words and was all given in beguiling joy: do as you are told and you will be taken care of. We weren’t called slaves, no, that word was too demeaning. We were servants, but we would be wearing collars that monitor where we were for our own safety, of course. It went on to explain general rules: not to leave unless given expressed permission to do so, comms and the extranet was off limits, and always follow the master’s routine.

It played over and over with verbatim until I was almost bored with it. It felt like school. No talking or running in the halls, turn in your class assignments on time, be in class before the bell. Yet, this was more serious than misbehaving in school. There would be no detention or a note sent home. If I pissed off my master, it would be within his rights to beat the hell out of me and the only restraint would be whether he was mindful he was damaging his own property. As I had been beaten before, I didn’t fear violence and masters rarely killed expensive slaves. The worst that could happen to me, that gave me the shivers, was being sold off to a labor camp.

There was twenty of us. For an hour each day, we were allowed out of the rooms to stretch our legs and mingle, but under the scrutinizing visors of the sentries. Most of us were women with a few men, all of us young and fit, easy on the eyes, and all had reasons to sign away our freedom.

A blonde, blue eyed girl with a habit of chewing her thumbnail wanted to get away from her father and brothers for reasons she would not share. A tall man with a dancer’s grace owed money to some dangerous people. It was either this or dead, he said with dry laugh. I couldn’t judge as it was the same for me.

We were allowed to talk, but we weren’t allowed to exchange names or where we came from. I think it might because they didn’t want us to start regretting our choices and try to escape. Makes us more complacent for what would be coming in the weeks ahead. Soon we’ll be taken off planet.

One of us is different from the others. This one is a child who couldn’t be any older than 8 or 9. I see her sitting against the wall near her door as if eager to return inside. She never spoke to anyone and entertained herself braiding and unbraiding a long strand of her jet black hair. When I saw her up close, I was taken aback by her eyes. They were pale blue, like a husky dog’s.

We’re going to be auctioned off, but not all of us. Jenna, the slave trader who recruited me, made special selections among us for special orders or so she says. The child is one of them. She looks up confused when a sentry takes her by the shoulder and leads her along with the others to a waiting ship. I watch them go, not certain if I considered myself lucky or unlucky for not being chosen.

As the auction nears, my stomach twists in knots and I tried to not to think about where I could be going. I didn’t regret my decision of signing that contract, but I did fear the future. It was an old habit from my days of being in and out of foster care between the bouts of my mother’s jail time and rehab. This was no different than being packed into the backseat of a social worker’s car with my single bag of clothes and toys and being carted off to the next home. Would they have a backyard? Would there be big kids there? Would the foster parents be nice?

I reassure myself by knowing that whatever it was, I would deal. I slept in overcrowded bedrooms (even sharing beds), ducked asshole foster parents, and endured bullying from the older kids. I’ve had good homes with kids my age and tired, but kind foster parents. A couple once wanted to adopt me, but Mom refused to give up custody and her child care checks from the state.

In the few short periods I lived with mother, she always had a man in the house. The best ones would ignore me, but others would see me as a burden, the unwanted zebra child of their lover. Mom said if I just came out whiter they would have liked me more, blaming me whenever one left, but shortly afterwards, another took his place. It wasn’t until I was sixteen that I was kicked out of the house for good when Mom suspected I was sleeping with her latest man. I never looked back.

We were loaded onto a ship and taken off Earth. I was lucky to have a window and I peered out watching Earth fall further and further away until it was a tiny pearl. I wish I could say I felt a wave of sadness or longing, but instead I felt relieved as if I was leaving something behind me like an ugly itchy sweater I would never have to wear again. It was a part of my life I may never come back to and I wasn’t remorseful of it.

“Do you know why I chose you for a domestic servant?” Jenna asked me when she was giving me a once over before the auction.

I was surprised to see her. She still wore the white dress suit cut in a different design and beads chiming as she spoke. I had been taken to have an assessment days before the auction, a final exam and some grooming to make be presentable for potential buyers. She sauntered in with her clothes so white they almost glowed. She said she was here to oversee the assessment and to speak to me. Just as I feared that she was here to tell me I was being sent to a labor colony after all, she chuckled, telling me not to fret, I was destined for the auction house.

I was due for a nanite treatment to teach me Galactic basic and I wasn’t thrilled about them injecting a needle into the base of my neck. I anxiously watched a physician prepping a long needle and the fear trickled into my voice, “No, ma’am.”

“Because you’re smart, but not clever,” Jenna explained and tittered at my confused glanced. “I like smart slaves; they know when to keep their mouths shut and act dumb. Clever slaves like to show off, be undisciplined, and sometimes they get bad ideas.” She said this with a meaningful tilt of her head, a look that said I would know what she implied and I did. ”I can tell the difference between the smart and clever ones as soon as they walk through the door.”

The physician laid the needle aside, content to wait until Jenna was through talking with me. I could stand to wait a few minutes before they jam that need into my cervical spine so I listened to Jenne intently.

“The first human I met thought he was clever,” Jenna continued, glad for a listener. “He made jokes, flirted with me, and spoke so casual to me. I pegged him right away as a clever boy, or believed he was clever.” She toyed with a braid, twining it around a long finger. “I sent him off to the work camps. Let’s see how the overseers enjoy his wit, I thought.” Then she released the braid and cast a yellow eye at me, “But you did none of that. You walked in with your eyes lowered, polite and quiet, and got straight to the meat of the matter. I knew right away that you know what it is to keep your head down and be attentive; to listen without making noise; and, best of all, understanding your place within the grand scheme of things. You’re going to do well, Jodi. I’m setting your starting price at a thousand gac.”

I drew a sudden breath. Beginning prices started at 200 to 500 gac. A thousand gac would put me on an upper tier of sales. It could guarantee I wouldn’t end up working in a field or in the back of a restaurant washing dishes. I would become a family servant for a well to do family and being a more expensive slave promised I wouldn’t be so casually mistreated. I had value.

Understanding my stunned silence was gratitude, she patted me on the arm, “Once you’re done here, you’ll accompany me to the aesthetics room.”

Then it was time for the needle.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments or Kudos is much appreciated. 
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr through RebelCourtesan muse blog.


	25. Labor Camp #54

The human body was discovered just before the sun rose over the dust red mountains, casting a natural stage light on the corpse as if pointing it out for all to see. A cord had been tied off to the steam pipe of an old diesel truck left abandoned between two forgotten rock piles, as if the workers had stopped midway through their job and left it for someone else to worry over. The other end of the cord was around the throat of a human man in his mid-thirties, thin, almost skeletal, with balding head, and skin now the pallid color of death. His eyes were closed and if it had not been for the cord and stillness that only the dead could achieve, one would believe he had dozed off leaning against the rock.

The Galra stared at it with lemon colored eyes and yawned until his jaws popped, showing off a rows of sharp teeth and a long tongue. He was not a morning person. It had been easier in space when there was no sunrise and he could fool his body into believing it was daytime. Being assigned to Earth as the warden of labor camp #54 had been a good promotion, but hopefully it wouldn’t be long until he was taken back into space where he felt more at home.

Until then, he had this to sort out.

A sentry escorted another human man who moved with a limping gait. His right leg swung long, barely bending at the knee with a woody creak and then a thump on the hard ground, heavy on the heel.  Then it would rock forward clumsily, each time threatening it would be its last step before crumbling. The wooden leg was hidden beneath the black pants leg of the prison uniform, but made itself known with each annoying squeak and thud.

The Galra, Gnelic, kept his ears from twitching from annoyance as the human stopped several feet away and bowed at the waist. “Warden.”

From any other slave, Gnelic would have expected a low bow, words of veneration, or even prostrating, but that wasn’t the human way, especially not this man’s way. Gnelic wasn’t so taken with the adulation of lesser beings that he would waste time trying to break the human. And he wanted to get to the point of why he summoned the slave so he could be done with the foul mess.

Gnelic pointed with a long finger at the corpse. “Explain that.”

The human man, in his late fifties or sixties, regarded the corpse. “It’s a hangin’, sir. The poor bastard hung ‘emself. Probably couldn’t stand this harsh life.” The human raised a gnarled hand to black hair peppered with white and gray as if to take off a hat he had forgotten wasn’t there.

Gnelic regarded the corpse for a moment. “Then why are his pants down?”

The old man looked down at the bundled pants bridging the corpse's ankles showing off hairy legs and his glory hanging loose like a dirty sock. He scratched the back of his neck with a blunt nail and went on, “Sir, it seems t’ me that this weren’t no suicide, no sir, it’s seem t’ be instead an accident.”

“How is this an accident?” Gnelic regarded the corpse’s untied hands which hung loose and open at its sides.

“Well, sir, it seems our boy, Fredrick, was into some very risky kinky shit,” Lee said this time scratching at the edge of his grizzled chin. “Auto-erotic asphyxiation.”

Gnelic’s ears twitched. “Auto-erotic . . .?”

“Why, sir, your kind never heard of such?”

Gnelic let his silence answer the question.

“Well, sir, this is a bit embarassin’ to speak of and you’ll only see it in the younguns’ that are willin’ t’ risk themselves for a flight of fancy so to speak,” Lee said nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “Cutting air off from the brain while stroking the snake can make the pleasure feel more intense, better’n havin’ three whores sucking you off at once.”

Gnelic blinked. His eyes swept from the corpse’s flaccid member to the ground before them. Both he and Lee took involuntary steps back.

Again, Lee bemoaned the corpse, “Poor boy, couldn’t even get one loaded in the chamber before he died from dropping the sac.”

Putting his ears to the side, Gnelic’s face twisted in revulsion. “You humans are disgusting.”

“Yes, sir,” Lee said with a quick bob of his head.

“Get men to clean this up.”

“Yes, sir,” Lee said with another bob of the head. “Right away, sir.”

Twenty minutes later, Lee was overseeing two men to cut down the corpse. The noose was a cord pilfered from the labor area from the western end of camp, furthest from the mines. The two men picked up Fredrick, one holding the arms and the other holding the legs, and began carrying him towards a litter. Lee watched standing still with none of the fidgeting he had displayed either. His pale grey eyes regarded the process with cold detachment.

“Jeff, why the hell did you leave his pants down?” One man said to the other.

“Because the fucker had the shit taped to his leg,” Jeff snapped. “I didn’t have time to pull them up because a patrol was coming. I would have had more time if you had kept watch like I told ya to, Larry!”

“Ya’ll shut your damn traps. Now!” Lee said sharply and both men shut up and placed Fredrick on the litter. 

Lee limped over, his wooden leg creaking with each swing of the leg. The two men stepped back, giving him space. Lee’s eyes darkened, thick brows knitted in the middle, and then he spat on the body. “Goddamn traitor got Darrell killed for a pack of cigarettes.  I hope there is a hell, I most surely do and I hope he’s down there gettin’ it up the ass by the devil ‘imself.”

Jeff and Larry both nodded solemnly, each of them giving the body their own venomous looks. Darrell had been a good man and did not deserve what had happened to him. It had been easy enough for them to lure Fredrick out here with the promise of drugs and illicit porn magazines where they then killed him and made it look like a suicide, at least it would have looked like one if Jeff had managed to pull the pants back into place.

They took Fredrick’s body to the incinerator at the edge of the labor camp where it was destroyed and then forgotten.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments or Kudos is much appreciated. 
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr through RebelCourtesan muse blog.


	26. Lance

It wasn’t the smell of smoke or the crackling of burning wood that awaken Lance. Nor was it Hunk’s sonorous snores that Lance could feel in his chest like the nearby roar of an overshot car engine. No, he woke up because he rolled onto his morning wood at an odd angle. Upon realizing, he had an erection, he slowly opened his eyes in the hopes there was a hot girl beside him to answer for it, but instead he saw the curls of smoke floating to the ceiling. Then his brain finally registered what his nose had been desperately trying to tell it for the last ten minutes.

“HUNK!!!” Lance shouted throwing off the covers and thrusting his legs over the edge, scratching his calf on a loose spring along the way. “FIRE!!!”

Hunk grunted in his sleep and rolled over, complaining of someone burning the cookies in the oven. Lance hollered his name as he pulled on a pair of jeans and then promptly kicked him several times in the back until Hunk sat up with bleary eyes and a dribble of drool at the corner of his mouth.

“Lance . . .what?”

“The fucking house is on fire! Get your shit and go!” Lance bellowed grabbing their scant belongings.

Within seconds, both of them were thundering down the stairs with their bags swinging against their backs. Lance coughed and kept his head down, towing Hunk by the sleeve. The taller man was having a hell of time with the thicker smoke blowing into his face. They could feel the heat of the flames through their clothes springing sweat over their skin. By the time they had burst through the front door into the clean air, they were both struggling to breath.

Lance stumbled forward, gagging, nearly banging his head on the porch post. Hunk tumbled down the steps, landing hard on his ass in the dirt. Lance managed to collect himself to grab Hunk by the shoulder to get them both away from the house before it collapsed. Coughing and wheezing, they both trotted away from the porch.

Through watering eyes, Lance saw Margery Kayla leaning against her black sedan with a telltale gas can sitting mockingly innocuous by her foot. Lance growled through a choked coughed and lunged forward, dropping his bag on the dirt and hands clenched. If she had been a man, he would have gone in swinging.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!?” Lance screamed.

Completely unfazed, Margery tilted her head, her eyes hidden behind the black opaque sunglasses, “I had a feeling I was forgetting something.”

Lance couldn’t tell if she was joking, mocking them, or actually being serious about forgetting them. Whichever it was, it infuriated him all the more. He would have struck her then if Hunk hadn’t suddenly grabbed him from behind and pulled him back.

“Calm down, man!” Hunk said easily holding him with two thick arms. “I’m fine and you’re fine. Let it go.”

“No! I am not letting it go!” Lance cried, kicking at the dirt and wrenching his arms, but couldn’t get loose from Hunk’s powerful grip which didn’t relinquish until he stopped struggling. Lance sagged exhausted, the adrenaline from fleeing the fire drained, sapping the rest of his energy. He lifted his head and shot Margery a venomous glare. “Why? Where the fuck are we supposed to live now!?”

r“Not my problem,” Margery said with a shrug. “The plan changed overnight. Galra are onto me and I need to disappear for a while.”

Hunk slowly let go of Lance’s arms, but stayed close in case he need to grab him again. The smaller boy breathed heatedly through his nose like an angry bull. “Then where are we going?”

“We?” Margery cawed, tossing her hair in a laugh. “Sorry, boys, I go solo from here on. Already spoke to Iverson and he gave me the go ahead to cut you loose. Said it was time for you guys to leave the nest and take flight . . .or fall and dry up on concrete like baby birds that can’t hack it.”

Lance stopped breathing, his eyes growing wide in shock and dismay. Was Iverson abandoning the mission? Had he given up on them ( _ him _ ) already?

It was Hunk who asked the question Lance was too afraid to ask, “Has the mission been scrapped?”

Magery lowered her sunglasses, peering mirthfully at them. “Naw, just changed up a bit. I can’t hide you guys anymore so you gotta take care of yourselves for a bit. Oh, don’t give me that ‘abandoned on the side of the road’ look. Here, I got something for you.”

She pulled an old leather wallet from her pocket and tossed it at them. Lance caught it easily with the flex of one hand and opened it. Inside was a several gac chits of large amounts. He looked up at her, raising an eyebrow, “Why are you giving this to us? You don’t exactly seem like a charitable bleeding heart.”

Margery shrugged, “I’m a woman of my word. I don’t like being cheated and I don’t cheat others. That amount should make us even steven until your mission ends if you handle your money carefully, that is.”

She opened the car door and climbed inside. The engine flared to life as Lance lunge forward, slapping the window, “Hey! Wait!”

The window lowered revealing Margery eyeing him with an arched brow. “You’re acting like my daughter did whenever I dropped her off at daycare.”

“Where are we supposed to go?” Lance yelled.

Margery rolled her abnormal blue eyes and said, “There’s a building in town that rents out apartments. Flash the owner some cash and tell her I sent you and she’ll give you a discount.”

Lance clutched the money tightly in one fist and was sorely tempted to throw it back in her face, but shoved it into his pocket instead. “Let’s go, Hunk.”

It was all he could do to keep from raging at the wretched woman beaming at them as if she had just done them a huge favor. Later, when he thought of it during the long walk into town, he considered that she probably did them a solid, aside from nearly burning them to death. He had never felt comfortable staying in her house and it’s not as if she had thrown them to the wolves. And he also considered that it would be easier to hide from the Galra if they weren’t among smugglers and drug dealers.

He was feeling better by the time they arrived in town and more in control. They still had the radios and he could report to Iverson that afternoon and see if what Ms. Kayla said was true or not and receive further orders. Hunk still muttered along worrying and complaining, but even he too seemed a bit more relaxed and relieved they were parting ways from Kayla.

The cheery mood lasted until they saw where the apartment was located just a few blocks away from  _ Bruisers _ . Already Hunk was waffling over finding somewhere else to stay or fleeing the town altogether. Lance screwed up his face and went inside leaving Hunk to decide whether to follow or not, but was relieved when the door open and closed behind him.

There was an old woman behind the counter reading an old book propped up on a stack of magazines. She gave them a derisive look over her half-moon glasses with thin lips tight. “It’s too early for visitors.” She pointed with a chewed nail at the cardboard sign written in permanent marker: No Visitors Before or After 8:00 AM/PM.

“No, we need a room,” Lance said, giving her a polite, charming smile.

“We’ve no room,” the woman said turning her eyes back to her book. “Ask around. There might be someone need renters to help pay the Empire’s tax on their house.”

“Good idea. Let’s go, Lance,” Hunk said turning to the door.

But Lance was not to be deterred. He leaned forward and said in a low voice, “Margery Kayla said you might have at least one room,” then he fished out a gac chit and placed it on the counter.

At the name, the woman’s eyes darted to Lance and then down to the chit on the counter. “That’s not a name you throw around casually, hon,” she said in an almost whisper. “It’s attached to someone mean and nasty.”

“Yeah, we know,” Lance admitted, but maintain a cool smile, refusing to betray the chill poking at his spine. “The last thing I want is her mad at me, but she is the one who sent us here.”

The woman studied him critically and swept the chit off the counter. “I have one room available and it’s the only one I got left. If you don’t want it, then there are hundreds out there who do.”

“Fine,” Lance said, relieved the woman had capitulated.

“And I don’t care if God Himself sent you, I got rules here and strict ones too. Break one and you’re out of here.”

“Yes ma’am,” Lance replied, eager to get upstairs.

The woman moved around the counter, taking a keyring off a hook as she climbed off her stool. “You don’t bother the other tenants. No fighting or yelling, period. And you already read the sign: no visitors before 8:00 in the morning nor any after 8:00 at night.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Lance followed her towards the stairs with Hunk following miserably behind.

“I got rules against coming and going at night, but if you have a job that has you out at all odd hours just show me a schedule and I’ll let it pass.”

“That’s very fair of you,” Lance said with a roll of his eyes. He was getting tired of the old biddy nagging at them when they haven’t done anything yet.

The woman stopped in mid-stride on the steps and whirled around on him. “Was that sass, young man?” The woman’s voice turned as sharp as a sword. Though she was a good deal shorter than Lance, her head barely reaching his mid chest, standing on the upper step allowed her to tower over him.

Lance falter in on the stairs and Hunk bumped into his back. “No ma’am!” Lance said hastily instantly regretting choice of words.

The woman gave him a vicious glare, her eyes flashing hotly behind her glasses. “I was a middle school teacher before the Galra came and I dealt with more sass than I care to handle in this lifetime and I won’t hesitate sending you out of here so fast your feet won’t touch the ground.”

“He didn’t mean anything by it!” Hunk said quickly giving Lance a poke in the shoulder. “Did you?” There was a rare hint of warning in his voice.

Lance mentally smoldered at Hunk’s sudden second thoughts on staying here. Wasn’t he the one that didn’t wish to live so close to  _ Bruisers _ ? Lance hastily regained his composure and said, “I’m sorry if what I said came across as disrespectful. I have nothing but respect for you and your room which we really need. Please?”

The woman scrutinize the both of them before wrinkling her nose and turning up the stairs. “Young people! You expect the world to hand you everything, but you don’t have one ounce of respect for anything or anyone. Sometimes I think the Galra coming here and knocking all of you down several pegs was probably for the best.”

Lance bit his tongue to hold back a nasty retort that would have his own mother ready to take him down several pegs. He followed the old biddy upstairs with the steps creaking beneath their feet. The woman kept talking and her voice was gruffer. “Do you boys have jobs?”

“We’re looking for work,” Hunk said hastily to keep Lance from speaking, likely out of fear that he would botch their chances of staying again. “But we can pay for our stay until we do.”

The woman hmph and led them to a second door, the middle one down a hall of three doors. “Here is where you’ll stay. There’s a mattress, but no bed so you’ll have to share it together on the floor. The bathroom and shower are shared with everyone on this floor so no long showers. You are not to disturb your neighbors. Do you still want it or am I standing here wasting my breath?”

“We’ll take it,” Hunk said before Lance had a chance to speak.

The room was cramp with broken furniture and near a window was an old mattress on the floor, but at least all the springs were contained inside making it a more comfortable place to sleep than the bed at Margery’s place. The floor was covered in dust and litter from the previous occupants and it kicked up in cloudy puffs with each step.

Lance kept his disgust contained until the woman had shut the door and was well out of earshot. “She couldn’t clean this place up? Doesn’t she have a broom?”

“Yeah, she does,” Hunk said dropping his bag on what seemed to be the cleanest spot on the floor. “She uses it to fly at night.”

Lance’s brows rose in sudden surprise. “Wow! You just made me proud, bud.”

Hunk sheepishly began turning the chairs over and inspecting them. “I think I can fix these and we can have a table to eat at.”

Lance examined the mattress. It was dirty, but looked comfortable with a tangled sheet. However, upon shaking out the sheet a dead mouse fell on the floor. Jumping back in revulsion, Lance made a face and turned away, “Gross.”

Two hours later, Hunk had managed to repair all the chairs with a couple only slightly wobbly. Lance had taken the sheet to the bathroom down the hall and hand washed it in the sink. Living rough with the rebels had taught them to be resourceful and make do with whatever they could find. After drying the sheet outside the window, Lance spread it over the mattress he had wiped clean with a rag. It looked more comfortable now being cleaned.

He sat on the mattress and pulled out the wallet and counted the gac chits. Margery had been generous with her handout, but it would quickly disappear paying rent and keeping them fed. The mission had relied on Margery providing them shelter and now they were on their own. As much as he found it distasteful, he and Hunk were going to have to find work to support themselves, at least until the mission was completed. Maybe Sandy could help with that?

He didn’t know where she lived. For all he knew she probably lived upstairs in  _ Bruisers _ . He could wait outside near dark and see if she comes in before the Galra start flocking in. She ought to know about jobs they could get.

He voiced this idea to Hunk who shook his head. “No way. I’d stay a hundred miles away from  _ Bruisers _ . I still can’t believe we’re going to be living less than two blocks from that place.”

“You worry too much,” Lance moaned checking the time. It was close to noon and his stomach was reminding him that they had no breakfast that morning. “Do you want me to go out and buy groceries or eat what we have?”

Hunk considered this question carefully as he eyed the kitchen area. “I think I can pull something off if I had the right ingredients. I’ll make you a list.”

“Alright, but remember, we gotta be careful with the money. Nothing fancy.”

Hunk made a soft comment about being tired of eating slop for the last several weeks, but came up with a simple list of things they would need. Lance trusted Hunk to know his way around food and made no further comment about the contents which didn’t seem to make a too much of a dent in their funds.

Downstairs, the woman was back to reading her magazine behind the counter. She gave him a suspicious glare over the top of the page, but said nothing when he walked out. The only grocery store in town was nearly six blocks and had slim pickings. Mostly cans from the few canneries allowed to remain open, some cereal, and fresh fruit and vegetables which cost more than Lance was willing to spend. There were people selling homegrown vegetables and eggs from kept chickens.

Lanced spied one selling rabbit meat with a small pen where bunnies were gamboling. In the rebel camps, Hunk had learned how to prepare rabbit meat and could make a decent meal and it had been a long time since they had fresh protein in their diets.

“How much for one?” Lance asked the man sitting on a lawn chair beside the pen.

“6 gac for a big ‘uns and 3 gac for the little ‘uns,” the man, a grizzled 50ish senior, grumbled. He had been fanning himself with an old folded newspaper. Lance could see the old headline announcing the Galra arrival on the leaf.

Lance considered this. 6 gac was pretty pricey, but it would make Hunk happy and would make up for his near slip up with the landlord. He reached in his pocket, “I’ll take a big one.”

The man took Lance’s money, giving it a cursory glance before pocketing it and rising stiff limb from the chair. He moved around to plank propped up on two gallon buckets behind the pen. He picked up a butcher knife and said, “Take your pick.”

Lance blanched, “Wait, you don’t have any already butchered and wrapped up?”

“And where the hell you’d think I’d keep it? In a freezer?” the man rasped through tobacco stained teeth. “Fresher this way.”

“Do I have to choose? I just want a big one.” Lance tried to keep his eyes off the happily hopping rabbits.

“Don’t wanna be accused of cheatin’. You pick the one ya want and I’ll kill, skin it, and prep it for ya,” the man explained impatiently.

Lance sighed and looked down. Rabbits were doing what any rabbits do. Hop, mate, eat bits of grass thrown in the pen, and mate some more. There was a black buck humping the backend of a doe which seemed more interested in eating grass than the passionate thrusts of her paramour. There were two young ones playing what seemed to be a game of chase between bouts of grooming. Lance couldn’t decide as the rabbits seemed to have too much to live for and just as he was considering to sheepishly ask for his money back, he spied a large fat one just sleeping in the corner. It might as well be the one.

Lance pointed at it, “Sorry little guy, but a man’s gotta eat.”

***

Lance carried the meat, wrapped in thick wads of newspaper and surrounded in a plastic bag, under one arm and toted the grocery bag in the other. As he did on his way to the store, he steered away from Galra groundcars or sentries, which wasn’t unusual as most people gave the aliens a wide berth. The braver ones cast resentful glances in their direction while others walked with heads bowed so as not to draw attention.

As Lance took a careful glance over his shoulder, a door suddenly thrust open before him and he nearly walked into it. “Hey!”

“Oh, sorry,” an oh so familiar voice said. Keith stepped around the open door. His violet eyes registered who he was and then his eyes slanted disdainfully. “It’s you.”

“Yeah! It’s me!” Lance blurted gathering himself. “What’s the big idea trying to hit me with the door!?”

“I said I was sorry,” Keith replied with a roll of his eyes which further incensed Lance.

“I ought knock some manners into your head . . .” Lance started, but Keith shot him a blazing look.

“Knock it off,” Keith hastily glanced up and down the street. “Are you trying to get us arrested, again!? The Galra in this area are still pissed over the stunt you two pulled.”

“Fine,” Lance hissed, still bristling. “I’ll go my way and you go yours.”

“Good.”

They both started walking in the same direction.

“Hey, go the other way!” Lance growled.

“I have to go this way to get home,” Keith snapped.

“So do I! So you go the long way!”

“Why should I go the long way? You go the long way!”

They continued this stormy exchange around the corner towards the apartments. They couldn’t outright hit each other without drawing attention, but Lance did elbow Keith in the side and Keith thumped his foot down on Lance’s toe. Some people took notice and hurried away lest they get caught up in the fallout if the Galra should take notice which one did. He was sitting at window desk across the street, saw the duo gnashing their teeth like two angry dogs, but decided he was too tired to get up and deal with it.

Just before it could turn into a full out brawl between the two, Lance stopped at the front door and glowered at Keith, “Good riddance!”

“Same to you,” Keith replied and went inside.

Lance’s jaw dropped and then infuriated bounded in after him. “Hey! This is my place!”

“This is  _ my  _ place! What are you doing following me in here?”

“I moved in this morning!” Lance said hotly.

“And you’ll be moving out this morning if you keep making that racket!” The woman behind the counter snapped, taking a flyswatter and bringing it down hard on the counter with the final judgement of a gravel. “Not even been here three hours and you are already starting a fight with your neighbor!”

“He started it!” Lance declared, jabbing a thumb at Keith.

“And I’m finishing it!” the woman screeched. “Get your ass upstairs right now or you move out right now instead!”

The injustice of it galvanized him, but Hunk would kill him if he lost them the room. He shot his offensive rival with a warning look telling him that this was far from over and he stormed towards the stairs. Just as his foot touched the first step, someone was clomping down the stairs. He looked up to see Pidge standing midway down the stairs who paused to stairs to stare back at him.

“What are you doing here?” they both chorus together.

“I don’t see you going up those stairs!” the landlord threatened from the counter where she was tapping a tattoo on the countertop with lacquer nails.

Lance ignored her, “You live here?”

“For now. We need to talk about . . .that thing from before.” Pidge took a quick glance upstairs as if afraid someone was listening in.

Lance nodded, understanding, “Yeah, we can head up . . .”

“Get up those stairs right now!” the woman burst from around the counter welding a yardstick as if it were a sword. 

Both Lance and Pidge fled upstairs. Pidge darted towards a room on the right end of the hall, but Lance snagged his sleeve and towed him into their room. Minutes later, Keith went upstairs to his room and quietly closed the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments or Kudos is much appreciated. 
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr through RebelCourtesan muse blog.


	27. Lance, Hunk, Pidge, Keith

Lance knew what Pidge was so eager to talk about before the door closed behind them. He wasn’t as eager to get into it again, especially since he was going have to tell the kid his shot for a ship was big ole hell no from the higher ups. And it was his job to convince the kid to aid them in hijacking the Galra extranet anyway. It was enough to make him forget about sharing the same building as Keith momentarily.

Hunk was in the kitchen area cleaning. He must have gone downstairs and borrowed cleaning supplies as there was now a bucket of soapy water and he was pushing a mop across the floor. He looked up when they burst in. “I thought I heard shouting downstairs. Lance, what did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Lance blurted indignantly. “It was Keith . . .”

Hunk threw up his hands and barely caught the mop handle from falling on the floor. “What did Keith do?”

“He lives here!” Lance seethed.

Hunk looked nonplussed. “Here? In this building?”

“Yeah! Next door!”

“Oh, great, we’re gonna have to move, aren’t we?”

Lance’s face darken foully. “We are not moving. He can move if he doesn’t like sharing space with us!”

Pidge cleared his throat, “Ahem, sorry if I cut into a lover’s spat, but we got something we need to talk about.”

Hunk finally noticed Pidge, “What are you doing here?”

“I live here too, but can we get to the issue at hand?” the smaller boy said with arms crossed and an arched brow. “Did you speak to your CO about my ship?”

Lance closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and then handed off his purchases to Hunk. “Here. Go ahead and get dinner started. I think we’re about to have a long day.”

“Ooh! Meat? Rabbit? Awesome! I can make a stew. I wished I had some red wine though, but I can make this work.”

Lance invited Pidge to sit with him at the table. It made things feel more businesslike and professional which he was hoping to use to get across how stupid this kid’s demand was. “Look, I told our CO and he said he would take it under consideration which translates as to a big fat no, in case you were wondering.”

Pidge took it as no surprise, “Yeah, I supposed that would be the case so I have another plan.”

“Yeah?”

“There is a cruiser in orbit around Earth. They should have freighters that should be capable of light speed travel,” Pidge explain animatedly. “It provides supplies to planetside bases. When it's in orbit above us, we use one of those to get to the cruiser and hijack a freighter.”

Lance stared. “We can’t fly their ships. We can’t even use their electric toothbrushes!”

“If I can find a way to work around that, will you help me?”

The little guy was persistent, Lance had to give him that. “I can make that promise with absolute certainty that it will never come to fruition because if our top scientists can’t hack their tech, then you can’t either.”

“Oh, I’ll find a way,” Pidge promised with determination blazing in his eyes.

“And we still need that data mined at the police station,” Lance reminded him. “We have to get that first.”

“I’ve been working on that, but I can’t exactly walk in there, fool around with their computers, and expect to walk out without a Galra having to something to say about it.”

“We’ll come up with a plan . . .” Lance lazily scratched the back of his neck. “It’s going to be tough with just the three of us . . .”

Hunk was useless in a fight and he doubt Pidge was much better weighing less than hundred pounds. Sadly, where he excelled at firearms, he failed at hand to hand combat. He could get a handgun from the black market, but it would the equivalent of using spit balls against the Galra. Chances were high of all three of them getting killed or arrested and interrogated.

Thinking out loud to himself, Lance muttered, “If only we had someone that can handle himself in a fight . . .”

“What about Keith?” The two of them looked over a Hunk who had been chopping up rabbit meat for the stew. Having their attention, he offered, “He’s a great fighter, top of our class in combat scores. He also trained with Shiro.”

Before Lance could fly into a diatribe of how useless Keith would be despite his many achievements in the Academy, Pidge lunged forward, “He knew Shiro? I mean, Takashi Shirogane?”

“Yeah, the very one. Shiro mentored Keith until the Kerberos mission went kaput,” Hunk said gathering the meat pieces and dropping them into a steaming pot. “He was the top student in the Garrison.”

“He was expelled,” Lance said red faced.

“Yeah, for beating up some jerks for bad mouthing Shiro,” Hunk said.

Pidge’s eyes shown, ignoring Lance, “When you say Shiro mentored him, did he also teach him to be a pilot?”

“Oh, yeah! Keith’s the top pilot in his class at the Academy, had the top score in all the sims. He even beat Shiro’s old time score.” Hunk said his words grating on Lance’s nerves.

“Then why isn’t he helping us? Shouldn’t he be part of your group?”

“Uh, hello, I just said he was expelled,” Lance said sourly. “He left the Garrison before the invasion and never came back. Even when the instructors sent out a call for all cadets to fight in the war.”

“I’m sure he had his reasons for not coming back. A lot of cadets left to go home to their families,” Hunk said.

“But will he help us?” Pidge said standing, his hands spread on the table as if he was going to leap across it. “I’ll go next door and ask him!”

“No!” Lance yelled as Pidge took off for the door. He threw himself across the table, which threaten to collapse from such rough treatment, and reached for smaller boy’s shirt and managed to snag it between two fingers, but Pidge easily tugged free and disappeared through the door.

He thumped his forehead on the table, moaning, feeling everything spinning out of his control. He shot Hunk a nasty glare, “Thanks a lot.”

Hunk shrugged and focused on dicing carrots for the stew, “We should all be working together. Plus, there’ll be more than enough stew to go around so we might as well eat together.” Then he shot Lance a pointed look, “And Iverson would want us to recruit him.”

Lance planted his face on the table with a dull thump. “I know, but I don’t have to like it.”

***

Keith regarded them from his spot against the wall with his arms crossed and his eyes furrowed in deep concentration. Lance and Hunk gave him a rough run down of their time with the rebels and the mission that sent them to District 88 and what they hoped to accomplish by breaking into the Galra controlled police station and hacking into their computers. Then Pidge took a turn telling him about his plans on stealing a Galra ship to track down Shiro and the Holts.

To think, twenty minutes ago he was eating cold pizza and planning to sleep for a couple hours so he could go to  _ Bruisers  _ later tonight. Now trouble literally knocked on his door and towed him by the hand into this room occupied by two old classmates.

He shot Lance and Hunk a vexing look. “Iverson seriously sent you two? He must be scraping the bottom of the barrel.”

“Hey!” Lance snapped. “At least we’re doing something to fight the Galra, What do you know about espionage?”

“You haven’t been here one day before you got yourselves arrested and put on the shitlist of every Galra in the district,” Keith said vehemently. “Why would you have walked into a Galra bar of all places!?”

“I was meeting a contact!” Lance thumbed his chest stalking across the room and locked eyes with Keith.

“And you had to meet her in crowded bar?” Keith said fiercely. “You couldn’t meet her behind the bar or after hours or in the day when no one was in there?”’

“H-how do you know it was a girl I was meeting?” Lance crossed his arms and eyed him.

Keith rolled his eyes. “I know it's not Bruiser because serving Galra has made him rich, and the only other people in that bar are the girls and now she’s been compromised for being around you the same night you get arrested.” Leaning away from the building and matching Lance’s glare, Keith said heatedly, “You guys are careless and are going to get yourself and everyone around you killed or arrested.”

Lance seethed while a tiny voice in the back of his mind reproaching him that Keith was right. He did put Sandy in danger by approaching her in the open. He had been so eager to have something to report to Iverson that he hadn’t considered waiting until they had a more private time to be seen with her. And then a more vile voice declared that Iverson would have chosen Keith as head of this mission for this very reason. He was better at this than him.

He shoved the unwanted thoughts aside. “So I take it you’re out. Fine, there’s the door. Don’t let it hit you on the way out.”

Keith made no move to go. “If I help you hack the Galra computers, do I get a spot on the ship leaving Earth?”

Lance blinked, Hunk stared, and Pidge beamed. It took him a moment to find his voice, “You’re going to help us?”

Keith nodded, “Yes, and I want to go with Pidge to find the Holts and Shiro.”

Hunk cleared his throat, “Is Shiro still alive?”

The dark haired youth looked away, “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since that night.”

Pidge looked between the the three of them as their expressions turned grim. “What do you mean he saw Shiro? Where!?”

Keith explained how he first saw Shiro in the arena and how he had gone to  _ Bruisers  _ to watch for him on the holo-vid to see if he was still alive. If it was possible to be both hopeful and sick with worry, Pidge was pulling it off. His eyes glowed, but his mouth was twisted in a grimace. “Did you ever see . . . Matt or Samuel Holt there?”

“No, I haven’t,” Keith said gravely.

Hunk was quick to speak up, “But that doesn’t mean he’s dead. It just means he’s not in the arena and that’s a good thing, right?”

“I was able to pull up human prisoner logs before I had to run away,” Pidge said. “Shiro is in the arena, somewhere they call the Heart of the Empire. Samuel Holt, my dad, is in a mining camp on Pelar, which could be a planet or a star system . . . I don’t know. Matt is listed as unknown. So I have no idea if that means he escaped or just missing.”

Keith moved forward, leaving his place against the wall. “Heart of the Empire? Does that mean the center of their territory?”

Pidge shrugged, “I don’t know. If I had more time, I would have downloaded the coordinates or found out more. And there’s something else. There was a fourth name there before theirs. Bridget Walsh. She’s in the Heart of the Empire too, in some place called Zenana.”

“Bridget Walsh? I thought the Kerberos mission was a three man crew,” Hunk said bewildered.

“It was a three man crew,” Keith said firmly. “Walsh could be someone who was arrested after the invasion, but who she is isn’t important right now. We need to get into that police station so we can find out where they all are.” He leaned over the table. “Does anyone have a pencil and paper?”

“Why?” Lance demanded.

“I’m going to map the area and draw what I remember of the station’s interior,” Keith said. “I was in there longer than you and I spent that time looking for exits in case I needed to escape.” Noticing the questioning looks from the others, he explained, “Shiro taught me to look for and memorize exits in dangerous places.”

Pidge produced a notebook and paper from the backpack he carried and Keith set to work mapping out the police station. Areas he was certain of he drew in detailed and spoke about weak points in security and spots that could cause problems. Any areas he was uncertain of were left blank.

“We can go in here,” he pointed at the back door, the same one that Magery escorted Lance and Hunk through after she bought their freedom.

“Do you know where their main computer would be?” Pidge asked studying the map through near opaque glasses.

“How much time do you need?” Keith asked.

Pidge took a moment to think before he said, “Ten minutes for the hack to send the data to the rebels database, then another ten so we can find out where Shiro and my family are. So about twenty minutes, give or take.”

“Better make it thirty,” Hunk said sitting down at the table with stew. “After the factory I bet they beefed up security on their networks since then.”

Lance groaned, pushing his fingers through his hair. “Great. . . so how are we going to get thirty minutes of uninterrupted hacking down without getting killed?”

“We go in without them knowing,” Keith said thoughtfully. “If there is a guard, we incapacitate him, and keep an alarm from going out.”

“That’s easier said than done!” Lance cried. “We don’t have any weapons.”

“Anything can be used as a weapon,” Keith stated. “Your friend was cutting meat with one, these chairs can be broken and used as clubs, and we can craft shivs with glass and plastic handles.”

“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” Hunk said looking nervous. “Maybe we can cause a distraction that will buy Pidge time.”

“Like what? A fire?” Lance came forward, determine be involved with the planning despite Keith’s presence.

An hour later, and after eating their fill of the stew, they all came to an agreement that they needed more time to observe the surrounding streets of the police station and come up with a plan of entry and fast escape for if, when, things went wrong.

Keith checked his watch, pushed his empty bowl away, and stood. “I gotta go. Tomorrow, Pidge and I will walk the streets and get an idea of the area.”

Pidge bit his lower lip, “Actually, I don’t think that’s a good idea. After the factory, I’m kinda on the wanted list.”

Keith looked around the table. “Am I the only one here who isn’t on the Galra shitlist?”

The three at the table looked at each other and then nodded solemnly and sheepishly.

“Great,” Keith sighed resignedly. “I’ll go alone tomorrow and we’ll meet here at noon. Just stay out of trouble until then, alright?”

After he left, Pidge stretched his arms above his head, yawning, and said, “I better head back before my mom starts to wonder where I am. As far as she knows, I quit you guys when the Galra came after us, so act like you don’t know me when she’s around, okay?”

“Sure, but lemme ask you a question,” Lance said as he collected the bowls from the table, giving  the door that Keith vacated an angry look for leaving behind a dirty dish without offering to wash. “Who’s Katie?”

Pidge’s eyes popped open wide. He maintained a wooden expression, but at the edges of his mouth were tight as if in a near wince. “I dunno.”

“Really? It seemed to mean a lot to you coming from that girl who ran up to you in the park,” Lance gave the smaller boy a suspicious look.

“It’s personal. Don’t worry about it,” Pidge said as he grabbed his backpack and hurried towards the door. “I’ll talk to you guys tomorrow, bye!”

Lance looked at the door long after it had closed with an arched eyebrow, “That guy is hiding something.”

“Whatever it is, it sounds like it’s none our business,” Hunk said gathering what was left of the stew to save for later.

Lance muttered something under his breath that Hunk couldn’t hear. He finished with the dishes, dried his hands, and checked his watch, “I have to go report to Iverson in a few hours.”

“Yeah, you need to tell him we recruited Keith,” Hunk said going around to where he left their bags to finish unpacking. “He’s going to be happy to hear that.”

“Yeah,” Lance sighed, already dreading giving this piece of news to the CO. He could already hear Iverson telling him to step aside and give leadership of the mission to Keith and wondered how would he react to deal to hearing that his star ex-student was planning on leaving the fight to go on some suicidal rescue mission in space?

Getting the data from the police station would be dangerous, but it was feasible if they planned carefully, but stealing a ship that can only be operated by Galra hands and escaping Earth to go into enemy territory to rescue three, possibly four, humans was impossible. It was an impossible dream and, yet, a part of Lance wanted to go with them.

***

Katie paused after closing the door. The guys were owed the truth that she was a girl, but the words wouldn’t come when they were needed. Hiding she was a girl would help keep her safe from the Galra who were looking for a Katie Holt and not a Pidge Holt. And she feared that the boys would try to protect her by keeping her from the danger if they knew she was a girl. She wasn’t afraid to risk her life, it was failing she feared and she knew they would fail if she wasn’t apart of the mission. Only she can translate the Galra code to locate Shiro and the rest.

When she returned to her room she found her mother not alone. Colleen was sitting on the couch comforting a tearful Sammi. The girl was wrapped in a thick sweatshirt with a blanket around her shoulders and she was sobbing into her hands. Her mother noticed Katie and whispered a few words into Sammi’s ear before standing, “Katie, come help me in the kitchen.”

The kitchen, much like the ones next door, was part of the open area of the living room. Katie followed her mother to the stove where Colleen began making tea. Sammi’s sobs could be easily heard from across the room. Katie stood close to Colleen to hear her.

“I found her crying in the park on my way home from the store. She is going to be staying with us for a while,” Colleen said in a soft voice.

Katie swallowed, “She is?”

“She had . . .a disagreement with her mother and she . . .needed to leave home for a bit,” her mother falter over the words and Katie knew she had bit back the words ‘kicked out’. With a hopeful stare at her daughter she said, “She could use a friend right now.”

“Alright, Mom,” Katie said somberly before going to Sammi’s side.

It had taken a while of listening through Sammi’s sobs to understand what had happened. Her mother had discovered her pregnancy and didn’t take it well. Not at all.

“I should have locked the damn door! I was changing and she just walked in and she . . . she saw this!” Sammi lifted her shirt to show off the developing ball of her stomach. “I tried to convince her it was water weight, but she said she wasn’t born yesterday and wanted to know who the father is because he was going to marry me whether he liked it or not.”

Katie held her hand and squeezed it, “What did she say when you told her what had really happened?”

“She didn’t believe me . . .at first,” Sammi rubbed her red eyes, pushing her shirt down. “She kept saying that I was lying to get out of trouble, but when she finally believed me . . .she went berserk. She began screaming at me, saying I brought it on myself by strutting around after hours . . .that I was asking for it and now I was stuck with an alien freak baby. I told her and told her that I didn’t want it, that I’ve been trying to get rid of it . . .she kicked me out. Said she wasn’t going to have a Galra raised in her house.”

Colleen came back with cups of tea on a tray. Sympathy soften her face as she handed the mugs to the girls. “Honey, I think your mother is just very upset right now. I’ll see if I can talk to her and make her understand.”

Sammi sniffed. “It’s not going to do much good. Mom’s a real bitch when she wants to be.”

Colleen pursed her lips, disliking Sammi insulting her own mother, but said gently, “We’ll see. You’ll stay here with us in the meantime.”

***

The sun was setting, casting a pale yellow light across the desert and Lance was beginning to feel the first chills of the night on the back of his neck. The radio hissed static in his hand.  He was sitting on a rock, his shoes kicking at small pebbles in the dirt. As Hunk predicted, Iverson was overjoyed with the news of Keith being on board with the mission.

“Holy shit,” Iverson’s voice came over distant and staticky. “That’s the best damn news I’ve heard in awhile. He’ll help you get the job done, but watch him, he can be impulsive without Shiro there to rein him in.”

Lance closed his eyes in relief. Iverson was not going to replace him with Keith after all. Yet, right behind the relief came a sense of fear. He was still in charge of the mission and it would be on him to bear the responsibility if it should fail. The weight of that burden was cold and heavy like steel.

Now it was time to drop the other shoe, “Remember the deal the Pidge kid wanted in exchange for his help?”

Iverson was quiet for a moment, sensing he was about to receive some bad news. “That insane request for a Galra ship capable of light speed travel?”

“Yes sir. Keith wants to go with him. To find Shiro and the Holts who were captured by the Galra.”

The radio crackled and Lance waited. Just as he was about to repeat his words in case it hadn’t been heard, Iverson’s voice erupted through the static, “You can’t let that happen.”

“Sir?” Lance shifted unsteadily on the rock. He had been expecting Iverson to start barking questions about Shiro and the Holts and felt unbalanced by the lack of them.

“If it was just the hacker making those demands, then we can ignore them and tell him to go to hell once we got what we needed. Keith is different. He’ll run through hell barefoot to save Shiro and we can’t afford to lose a soldier like him on some fool’s dream. You talk him out of it.”

Lance stared at the radio, stunned, and with so many questions whorling through his mind like debris caught in a tornado. Finally, one question managed to reach his lips, “Did you know the Galra had Shiro and the Holts?”

The radio hissed silently and Lance held it between both hands, his fingers tightening on the chassis. His mouth felt dry and his heart was pounding as he waited.

Iverson’s answer came over through a rush of static, “We suspected for a while. There was . . .information, signals, we didn’t make public. Our scientists couldn’t figure out what had happened.  It was under investigation until the Galra came and then we suspected they were the reason for the crew going missing on Kerberos. We didn’t get confirmation of that until the Galra began airing their television over the extranet where we saw him fighting in some gladiator pit.”

It was like a ice needle was piercing his temple and an unwanted sense of pity sprung up for Keith in his chest. It spurred on the anger that propel him to say heatedly, “So you let everyone believe the mission failed due to piloting error? While he’s been going through hell, you allowed everyone to believe it was his fault the Kerberos mission failed!?”  He almost said,  _ And you let Keith get expelled for trying to protect Shiro’s name! _

Iverson’s voice became raspy with barely hidden anger, “Don’t you dare take that tone with me, boy. It wasn’t my call to make and I was following orders, like you follow mine. Get that data for us and then we’ll start the next phase of the plan. Understood?”

Lance swallowed back an ugly retort. “Understood, sir, I just can’t understand how you can allow Matt Holt and Samuel Holt’s younger son and wife to believe they’ve been dead this whole time.”

“Younger son? The Holts had two kids, a boy and a girl. Matt and Katie Holt.”

Lance blinked and thought back to a girl running up to him and Pidge frantically calling the name Katie. “Well, damn.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments or Kudos is much appreciated. 
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr through RebelCourtesan muse blog.


	28. Keith, Thace

Keith idly sipped from the coke can with his eyes trained on the holo-screen floating overhead. An announcer’s voice droned on about the combatants skills and kills as their images flashed across the screen, sometimes punctuated by clips of their feats in combat. He sought the dark hair and white flash of Shiro’s hair, but it wasn’t there among the images or the crowd of prisoners being goaded into the arena. It had been several weeks since the incident, since he saw Shiro’s bloody fight with Migo and there had been no sign or mention of him since. Was he alive? Or still injured? Where did the Galra take him?

The concept that Shiro may no longer be alive was dismissed as soon it was slip into his brain. Shiro was alive, on that he was adamant. To believe otherwise was. . .unconscionable. The Galra had to have taken him elsewhere and wasn’t going to say where he had gone through the arena announcer. Perhaps his coming to Bruisers was a wasted effort. Yet a voice nagged at him that the one night he didn’t make it to the fights, was the night he would have learned of Shiro’s fate. So he kept vigilance, sitting at the corner of the bar, nursing from a coke can, under the colorful splashes of color from the holo-screen.

Before tonight, there had been a sense of helplessness he found galling, like salt in an open wound, not he felt energy pulsing through his veins. Now he had purpose, a mission to find Shiro. He had mourned his loss for so long and to finally be able to do something about it was like getting a new lease on life.

He was no fool as he understood the odds stacked against him, but he was used to having low odds: losing his father and home, being tossed from home to home in the foster care system, earning his way into Garrison, and then finally meeting Shiro. He was no stranger to hardship, nor did he fear danger. In fact, he was feeling a bit enliven by it.

It was no surprised when the seat next to him was filled by a familiar presence. “Evening, Keith.”

“Thace,” Keith said mildly without taking his eyes off the screen.

Thace no longer caused a prickle of tension to form on the back of his neck as it did whenever he was around Galra, yet he was still on guard around him. This Galra wanted something from him and he had no idea what that could be. He had the knife with no intention of giving it back so why sit with him whenever they were both in the bar?

On cue, Bruiser set tall glass of alien beer before Thace and went off to serve another customer, but not without giving Keith a warning look. Keith ignored him, watching the holo-screen instead. Two combatants, a fish like warrior vs. a tall green man with head tails, circled each other, both armed with clubs. He didn’t take pleasure in the fight, but starred intrigued by the unique alienness between them. Exploring the unknown and possibly finding aliens had been the purpose of space exploration, but here it was inside a bar where he could have refreshments with another alien on the stool next to his.

“That is a Fuquard and a Siritzl,” Thace said looking up at the holo-screen. “Don’t feel too bad for them. Their people have been mortal enemies since before the Empire found their solar system. They’re likely loving the chance to kill the other.”

Keith shrugged. “Seems like a waste of energy when they have one enemy in common.”

If Thace caught the obvious barb, he pretended not to notice. “Did you find any work today?”

Keith nodded and set his empty coke can forward for Bruiser to throw away. “Replaced some broken windows today and I’m mending a roof tomorrow.”

Their meager conversation started with Thace inquiring about Keith’s day. Keith saw no reason to pry into others business nor so saw any harm in sharing news about his menial jobs, even if it was with a Galra.

“Your talent is wasted,” Thace said before taking a long pull from his glass. He set it down with a short gasp and sigh. “You’re a warrior and an excellent pilot.”

Keith flexed his shoulders and rested his chin on the heel of one hand with an elbow propped on the bar. “Well, seeing as how the Garrison and US military forces are gone, I’m pretty much out of the job. Unless Galra are recruiting humans?”

“Eventually, once the rebel cells have been stamped out, the Empire will allow your people to police themselves. You could become a Peace Keeper in a few years if you stay out of trouble.”

Keith inclined his head, “I think I would rather mend fences and weed gardens before I work for you guys.”

“Hmm,” was only Thace’s response as he turned his attention to the screen.

This was how it played out between them. Keith would test Thace and the Galra would either ignore or deflect the barbs and subtle insults at the Empire. Keith couldn’t understand what Thace got out of these encounters. It wasn’t the first time he had experienced someone trying to get close to him before back in the Garrison while he was on the rise from freshman to top in his class. Students who wanted to rub shoulders with him or have him join their clique would suddenly join him at lunch in the cafeteria and chat away at him. In the beginning, he tried to make friends, Shiro had encouraged him to do so, but the conversations were stilted. He had nothing in common with the others who came from career military families or had enlisted for the adventure of space travel. And he didn’t share the same interests as the other kids. They wanted to go out and party when he rather train or read. The ones who bragged constantly about their own achievements annoyed him while others who kept praising him made him uncomfortable.

The students would ‘suddenly’ find they were late for class when the bell hadn’t even rang or see a friend they needed to give a message to and not return. It wasn’t long before he had the reputation of being a loner and antisocial. He felt it suited him better. He was mostly left alone by lunch save for the occasional girl who tried to flirt or Shiro when he had the time to eat with him.

He could somewhat understand why the students would hang around him, but why this alien?

Bruiser collected his empty coke can and replaced it with a new one. Keith reached into his pocket, but Thace shook his head, “I’ll cover it, Bruiser.”

“Very good, sir,” the bartender said and shuffled away.

“I’m not rich, but I can afford my own drinks,” Keith scoffed, taking the can and wiping the wet rime on his jeans before popping it opened. He would leave money on the bar later when he left which Bruiser would shovel into his money tray instead of charging it to Thace’s tab. It was begrudging, though silent agreement between them they kept from the Galra.

“You could get something stronger,” Thace said eyeing the bright red can. “You’re practically drinking sugar water.”

“I never developed a taste for alcohol.”

The Garrison campus had a zero tolerance for underage drinking and drug use. Even Shiro upheld this rule; drinking only soda and water with Keith, even off campus. Keith never complained as he knew the perverse hold alcohol and drugs could have, having lived with more than one foster parent who had an addiction and he had no wish to follow into their hell.  And it was a drunk driver who killed his father.

While the Galra’s golden eyes were on him, Keith kept his on the holo-screen, betraying nothing, not even when the violence was at its most bloody. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Thace raise a hand, but lower it onto the bar to curl around his glass as if giving it something to do lest it do something unintentional. Again, Keith wondered what Thace wanted with him. Was this some Galra ploy to investigate him without arousing suspicion? If it was, then it was failing.

It wouldn’t be long before Thace retired upstairs with his woman or get called away to deal with some Galra business. Yet, tonight he stayed seated beside him until near the end of the fights, Keith put aside his empty coke can and scooted off the stool. “I’m going.”

“Next time,” Thace responded with a small tilt of his glass in farewell.

Keith ignored it, shouldering his jacket and shoving his hands into his pockets. He never stayed till the end of the fights anymore. Shiro was usually showcased midway through the fight and now they were pushing a new fighter forward as the Champion. Already they were replacing Shiro, just as the Garrison had before after Kerberos, pushing forward another star pilot from his graduating class.

Keith wondered briefly whether the Garrison tried to replace him after he was dismissed, but then decided he didn’t care. It was no use dwelling on the past when there was so much in the future that concerned him. His thoughts to turn to the missions of surveying the area around the police station, stealing a ship, and finding Shiro.

Thace wasn’t the only Galra who took notice of his presence. A table of Galra recruits, fresh from the Academy watched him leave, their eyes disdainful. Why was a native drinking in their bar as if he was their equal? They were Galra, the elite and strongest race in the Universe. They had no thought towards their elders who ignored Keith as long as he stayed in his little corner, more content to drink and whore than put a native in his place.

When Keith left, the largest recruit at the table gave his fellows a curt nod and they all rose as one and headed for the door, chuckling under their ale soak breaths with violent glee in their eyes.

***

Leslie wouldn’t be in today; one of her children was sick and needed more care than her elderly mother could give alone. Thace thought nothing of it, but the woman was flustered, nearly tearful, so very worried she would lose him as a patron. Fortunes had come her way since becoming his mistress. Bruiser raised her pay and nor was she expected to sleep with other Galra as long as belonged to Thace and he had been good to her, often giving her extra money for any discomfort or pain she experienced during sex and he mostly drank with her and have pleasant conversations.

On Thace’s part, he was fond of Leslie, but not in the way she believed. She was good company, but if he had things his way, he would give her enough money to see her family moved to a better district where she didn’t have to sell herself to survive. The only genuine attraction he felt for her was her resemblance to Keith and being around the youth made all the differences between the two humans that much apparent. So much so he was having a hard time seeing Keith in her anymore.

Thace couldn’t explain to himself why he felt the need to bond with the youth. Yes, Keith was beautiful and was at the core of his carnal fantasies, but there was a deep desire for a closeness, to reach across an insurmountable gap and draw him in. Thus far, like a disinterested lover, Keith rebuffed his advances and not that Thace dared blame him, his was a member of an invading alien race that had taken over his planet and destroyed so many lives. And that wasn’t including the fact that he may not be attracted to other males, or was that the case? He had never shown any interest in the working girls, but that didn’t mean he was homosexual. It wouldn’t be a surprise if he was asexual.

He watched Keith leave and saw the youths following him out. He snorted derisively, madden that this systems’ Command would see it necessary to post youths in his district. These younglings just graduated the Academies and were eager to seek their glory in battle and it must have irritated them to be posted on an already subdued planet to be used as part of the Peace Keeping forces. Naturally, they would seek an outlet for their frustration and unanswered aggression, thus causing problems for Thace.  Then, that may have been the intention behind it.

Thace threw some chits on the counter and stroll out the door after them.

***

Keith was aware he was being followed by the time he reached the end of the block. They were either too drunk for creeping quietly or failed their stealth training as he could hear the loud scrape of boots on pavement yards behind him. This wasn’t the first time he had been followed before and after the invasion. Muggers had found themselves out of their depths when they tried to corner him and more than one Galra would turn a corner to see a deserted street. This was different, they didn’t move with a hunter’s step, but with the posturing strut of youthful pride. He could easily outstrip them if he ran or hide when he turned a corner. Yet, tonight his blood was flushed with energy, a need to beat his fists into flesh and bone. He had avoided fighting with Galra as he was aware he might win the fight, but then be taken to die in a labor camp. Caution had protected his pride from being forced to take a beating to avoid that fate. Tonight, he was tempted to take his chances against them and see what the outcome would be.

A wiser part of his mind, a voice that sounded oddly like Shiro’s, called him foolish for being so willing to take that chance. The others needed him with a cool head and sound body for the mission and he needed to be free to find Shiro. To throw it all away just for the exhilaration of a fight would be selfish and stupid. So that left only the option of eluding them.

He walked casually with the slowness of the unawares and turned a corner. There was an old abandoned building with garage door chained to the ground. The rusted door stayed open, the chain preventing it from being opened any further, but with just enough space for someone to squeeze through on their stomach. It was a good hiding spot he used whenever he was followed. It only took him falling onto his front and then rolling beneath the door and scooting out of view before the others caught up. He bit back a laugh when a chorus of confused shouts echoed outside the door. From beneath it he could see their boots beating a path back and forth on the street.

“Where did he go?”

“The little coward ran away.”

“No, we would have heard him if he did.”

“You go that way and you two circle around.”

“I’ll wait here in case he circles back.”

He listened to them scattered, boots pounding the pavement while one stayed behind pacing to and fro in front of the door. Keith released a soft, inaudible sigh, as, eventually, the lookout was going to notice the partially open door. It wouldn’t take them long at all to break the chain and barge in after him. Keith slowly rose to his feet and looked around. His eyes were adjusted to the darkness and he always had good dark vision, but even in this pitch black it was impossible to make anything out without light and he didn’t dare use the mini-flashlight he carried with him.

_ Alway be prepared. _ He could hear Shiro’s voice as clearly as if he was speaking next to his ear. He did a quick inventory of his pockets. The mini-flashlight, a pocket knife (he bought one since Thace confiscated his old knife), a meal bar, and a compass. The knife was sharp, but didn’t have the weight he was accustomed from his old blade. It would do if he was cornered, but he had no intention of letting that happen.

He tread carefully, taking small steps to keep from bumping into any equipment or tools, but the way was clear. Likely the owners took them when they left or perhaps they had been looted during or after the invasion. There were a set of steps leading up to a landing and he could make out the outline of a door. It was locked which only lasted as long as it took Keith to jimmy the lock with the knife. It opened with a dull click and Keith waited, listening. The Galra outside didn’t react, but continue his impatient rotation, this time with soft curses.

Keith slipped into the next room, his feet making no sound, and shut the door slowly. It was a break room with a round table with chairs sitting upside down around the edges and a tall refrigerator standing forlorn in the corner. It was empty save for a small tupperware container he didn’t dare touch.

A drink machine had been broken open and a couple bottles of water had been left and forgotten on the floor.

_ Always be resourceful. You never know when you’ll be without later. _ Shiro’s voice gently reminded him. He picked one up and tucked it into his jacket pocket and opened the other one. Taking long drinks, he thought about what he should do. Best case, he could spend the night here and those Galra punks will give up the hunt and leave. Worst case, they surmise that he’s inside the building and find their way in here.

_ Hope for the best, but prepare for the worse, _ Shiro’s voice cautioned him.

The building had a second story. He’ll be safer upstairs and could watch them through a window. There might be a way to get to a neighboring building from the roof. He tried a few more doors, finding a restroom, a closet, and an office with an empty desk and sloping filing cabinet. He found the stairs and went up. The building smelled of dust and old cigarettes, a forgotten time when you could just walk into any convenient store and buy a pack along with cokes and snacks. Now the only way cigarettes could be found was on the black market at lofty prices.

The upstairs had been someone’s home. There were a couple of bedrooms with the beds stripped. One belonged to a teenager with forgotten textbooks stacked in a corner and football posters taped to the walls; an old reminder of when people were allowed to have other things on their minds other than food and medicine. A quick search of the room revealed an old air rifle in the closet, tucked behind moth eaten clothes. It was loaded, but useless against anything bigger than a rat or a bird.

_ Don’t dismiss an item just because it can’t fulfill its function, _ Shiro’s voice chided.  _ Think of other ways you can use it. _

Keith took the air rifle with him to the master bedroom which overlooked the street. Standing at the window, he could see two of the Galra below, sweeping the streets and buildings for him. He could tell from how they peered through windows and poked through refuge, they would not give up the search until they found him. Thanks to the curfew, most people were in their homes, but it would only be a matter of time before they began putting boots to doors.

He held his breath as he eased the window open. The window resisted being slid through the jamb and made a soft wooden creak. Kneeling on the floor, he aimed the rifle. The sight was a joke, but he didn’t need pinpoint accuracy. The air rifle pffted when he squeezed the trigger. A distant window from the uninhabited part of city, a block away, shattered. The Galra spun around whooping and dashed up the street towards the crash.

Keith dropped the gun and headed downstairs and back to the garage. Through the door, he saw the sentry had gone so now was the time to get out of here before they double back. Just as he was getting onto his hands and knees, a large hand caught him across the mouth and an arm wrapped around his waist. He thrust an elbow into a gut eliciting a grunt and he was hauled backwards off his feet.

“Shhh,” a voice whispered next to his ear. “It’s me. Thace.”

Keith went still, but didn’t relax as it being Thace didn’t make matters much better. He was sorely tempted to bite his hand to get the Galra to let him go. As if sensing Keith’s inclination, Thace released him. “You can’t go out there yet.” His voice was soft whisper, his lips barely moving.

“They’re gone,” Keith hissed.

“There are a few remaining behind incase you come back here. Wait and soon they’ll get impatient and join the others.” He was squatting down close to him, his eyes almost glowing in the dark.

“How do you know?” Keith whispered sullenly.

“I’ve been on hunts before in my youth.”

“Hunts?”

Thace held a finger to his lips as his right ear twitched. He waved his hand down for Keith to stay low and silent. Feet thundered by followed by jubilant shout which echoed down the street. It wasn’t until the echo faded that Thace took Keith by the arm, “This way.”

“The way out is here . . .” Keith pointed at the rusted door.

“No, we’ll go out the way I came in,” Thace turned around, tugging him along.

Keith pulled his arm free, but followed anyway. He’ll go along with Thace for now until he smelled a trap. Thace led him back to the main hall and up the stairs. Unable to stay quiet, Keith whispered, “Why are you helping me?”

“Am I helping you?” Thace said vaguely. “I’m only keeping the peace in this district.”

Confusion rippled Keith’s brow. “Meaning?”

“Meaning I keep those brats from mauling you and upsetting the human populace in this district and I keep you from giving them a beating and upsetting the Galra instead. The last thing I want is to put down a riot or have you arrested for defending yourself so I’m taking the middle path by helping you get away from them.”

“Then why not order them to leave me alone?” Keith said, not ready to take Thace’s word at value.

“And do you want to draw that kind of attention?” Thace fixed him with a golden stare. “Do you want to be known as my pet human? Or paint a target on your back as forbidden prey? You’ll get no peace from them then. This way, they’ll eventually forget about you and settle down. Through here.”

Thace led him the master bedroom where the window had been left opened. Did Thace see him shoot the air rifle? From where? And how fast did he have to be to climb through the window and catch up with him on the ground floor. Thace stood at the window and leaned out. “It’s a bit of a jump.”

He indicated an open window in the opposite building. “The building takes up most of the block and if we get out through to the other side, it’ll throw them off your trail if they come back. If you need help I can . . .”

“I got it,” Keith said quickly, not wanting Thace to think he couldn’t handle a simple jump.

_ When you have no options, never turn away helping hand.  _ But this was a lesson Keith found hard to accept. The best lesson was to never need help in the first place.

“I’ll go first,” Thace said, but there was a certain note in his voice of words unsaid; an offer to help from the otherside if needed.

Keith seethed, but nodded, determined that he would need no aid in jumping. Without further ado, Thace leapt between the windows as casually as if he was taking a long step, landing effortlessly on the other side. He turned leaning out the window and motioned for Keith to follow, “It’s clear. Come.”

With a better view, Keith could see the gap was bigger than he had anticipated. He had made such jumps before in training, but with a safety rope and a spotter.

_ Don’t think about. Just do it. _ Shiro’s voice encouraged him.

Keith gauged the distanced, backed up several paces and with a full sprint giving him momentum, he leapt. For several heartstopping seconds, he was airborne with the hard pavement yards below him. He just short of meeting his mark. A purple hand thrust forward, catching him by the jacket and hauling him inside. Keith’s feet clipped the window sill as he scramble to regain his footing. “I got it!”

“You didn’t ‘have it’.” Thace said coolly and let him go. “Through here.”

The building was an old retail store that had been left in disrepair since the invasion. It was an old manager’s office they had landed in. They quickly found the stairs and went down into the main store. The front of the store had been broken into long ago by looters and no one replaced the windows save for sweeping up the broken glass off the street. They left through one if the empty windows and trotted across the street into an opposite alley. Thace led and Keith followed, his ears prick for any sounds of footfalls save for their own.

It wasn’t until they were many blocks away that Thace stopped near the opening of an alley. “You should be safe enough out here.”

Keith drew a deep breath, winded from the long run. Then he shoved his hands in his pockets and gave Thace a dubious look. “Where am I going to stay? My apartment is back that way.”

“Wait one hour. I’ll head back and order them to abandon their hunt and return to quarters on the grounds they have training and hours of duty tomorrow.”

“What is this hunt you keep talking about?” Keith said leaning against a brick wall. His heart was still racing and he was a bit winded from the long run, but he refused to let Thace notice. “Is that a Galra thing?”

“Not just Galra. Other races with a predatory nature have something similar. When a Galra reaches adolescent, they become aggressive with unrepressed energy. So hunts are arranged to allow them to vent and sharpen their skills.” Thace gave him a musing smile. “At first, they intended to give you a beating, but when you gave them the slip, it challenged them.”

“Excuse me for not wanting to get jumped or arrested for self-defense,” Keith retorted.

Thace glanced in the direction they had departed. “I would suggest you forego Bruisers for a few weeks. They may try this again the next time you leave the bar.”

“Shit,” Keith sighed. Maybe he could make a deal with Bruiser to sneak through the back or have one of the girls watch out for Shiro during the fights.  But he doubted it as he was far from being Bruiser’s favorite person.

“If . . .if you want to watch the arena . . .” Thace’s usual smooth tone was hesitant, almost diffident. “I have a private holo-vid in my quarters.”

Keith raised his eyes to Thace, his eyebrows arching upward. The Galra was staring down the street as if all the answers to the purpose of life was down there. His first thought was to outright refused, but then he realized that this was the safest way he could watch for Shiro and this could be a potential wellspring of intel.

“I’ll . . .I’ll think about it.”

“You have my comm channel number,” Thace said taking a step away. “Call me if you wish to accept my invitation.”

Keith nodded, but then realized Thace wasn’t looking at him to see it, then said, “I’ll call.”

“I’m leaving. The streets with be safer before morning.” With that said, Thace departed

Keith watched him leave confused, but relieved. He still didn’t trust Thace and would be on his guard around the Galra from now on. Thace’s reason for aiding him seemed plausible, but Keith still had doubts. There had to be something more to his reasoning for putting his neck on the line for a human.

***

Thace’s mind buzzed when he returned to his quarters. He stripped off his uniform and crawled into bed, too tired for a shower. Yet, even when he laid his head on the pillow, he still found sleep impossible. He kept replaying his words over and over, in disbelief that he had invited Keith to his quarters like some nervous youngling inviting a crush to his home.

Where did it come from? He had believed himself above doing such things. Yet, sharing the thrill of escaping danger while protecting Keith brought forward an edge of desire left ignored until that last minute. And it made him daring and incautious. He should have bit his tongue or outright ignore Keith’s distress upon being barred from Bruisers.

Did he want Keith to accept his invitation or did he hope he would never call? He didn’t know which he wanted more.

He closed his eyes, forcing himself to sleep. As a lassitude spread over him, he found himself longing for a warm body next to his. There were no sexual feelings, just a desire for a sleeping companion. Leslie was home with her sick child and though Haxus was just a call away, he might be asleep or busy with his case.

Then Thace realized that he didn’t wish for Leslie or Haxus’s company. He remembered the quiet sough of Keith’s breathing in the dark. The tender strength in his arm and the slight weight of his body when Thace pulled him through the window. The youth had moved as artfully with the grace of a Galra. His distinct violet eyes almost shone in the dark and Thace felt stirrings in his chest at the memory.

Then Thace’s eyes snapped opened and he rolled onto his back, looking up at the ceiling as it dawned on him that his feelings for Keith were no longer just sexual.

“Oh, by the Gods . . . “ Thace pressed the heels of his hands to his brow as the epiphany sunk into his core. “I’m in love with Keith.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any kudos or comments are much appreciated. They are the fuel to my creativity and motivation.
> 
> Follow me for any updates or dabbles on Tumblr: RebelCourtesan


	29. Lance, Keith, Pidge, Hunk

_ I’m not worried.  Not worried at all.   _

The words floated around his head like those little pesky birds after a cartoon character got clonked on the head.  Like flies, he swatted the thoughts away and refused to worry. Keith was a big boy. He was numero uno in the Garrison Academy so he can take care of himself.  Hey, he chose to go out drinking in an alien infested bar by himself.

Hunk spent the night ranting about doom and gloom and how they should go out looking for him, but Lance overruled him.  “We can’t give those aliens a chance to pound us into the pavement. We stay here until morning. He’ll be back soon.”

But Keith didn’t come back throughout the night.

Lance only slept a handful of hours and rose when a thread of sunlight fell across his eyes from the window.  His first thought was if Keith made it back.

He stumbled out of bed, tugging up his pajama bottoms as he went.  The wood floor was ice to his soles as he thumped across the floor and out the door.  Goosebumps rippled across his skin from the chill in the hall, but he knocked on the next door and waited with a pounding heart.  He heard movement from within, but he didn’t relax until the door opened and a tired Keith leaned against the jamb and eyeing him derisively.  

He was still wearing the clothes he had worn last night, but they were wrinkled and smelled of sweat and the streets.  His eyes were slanted and he uttered an annoyed, “Yeah?”

“What happened last night?”  Lance demanded refusing to relinquish his right at being the offended one.  “Where were you?”

Keith moaned, “What are you?  My mother? Something came up last night and I had to take a detour to get back.”

“What happened!?”  Lance’s voice strained to keep from shouting.  The last thing they needed was the old witch downstairs to come flying up on her broomstick and wielding a switch.  

Keith yawned, “I’ll tell you later.  I’m going back to bed.”

With that, he shut the door in Lance’s face.  Lance stood there stammering in utter outrage, then he bang fiercely on the door, making it rattle in its frame.  The witch downstairs be damned, he wanted answers!

The door reopened so fast his fisted nearly knocked on Keith’s face.  “What?”

“Don’t shut the door in my face.  We stayed up last night thinking you were dead!”

“You’re not that lucky,” Keith snorted.  “I’ll give you all the details later after I get more sleep.”

“Hey!”  Lance caught the edge of the door just as Keith was about to shut it in his face again.  He leaned in, bringing his nose close to Keith’s. “We’re supposed to be a team and I’m the team leader.  You’re supposed to report to me when something goes wrong. You know that!”

For a long time Keith eyed him, but Lance matched hiM glare for glare.  He didn’t know how long they stood in the hall staring each other down. While Lance kept his face hard as stone, he was flashing back to the sparring matches he had witnessed Keith participate.  The guy had been brutal and efficient in the ring and undefeated until he was expelled. He refused to acknowledge the chill that had nothing to do with the cold hallway.

Keith finally gave in.  “Some Galra punks tried to jump me after I left  _ Bruisers _ .  I had to take a long detour to get back without getting my head kicked in or arrested for kicking their heads in.”

He wasn’t meeting Lance’s eyes when he spoke.  “Did anything else happen?”

Keith sighed and rubbed his eyes which were swollen from much needed sleep, “I had some help in getting away.  Look, I’m so tired my brain’s numb. Lemme get a few hours of sleep and you can debrief me as much as you want.  I might have a way to get valuable intel.”

Lance’s own eyes were heavy with fatigue.  “We’ll wait for Pidge and Hunk to wake up.”

“Fine.”  Keith said and closed the door, though softer this time.

Lance returned to his apartment and went unceremoniously back to bed.  He flopped onto the covers, long arms and legs spread out in a star shape.  Sleep would have claimed him if Hunk hadn’t started speaking.

“Did he make it back?”  Hunk asked from his cocoon of a sleeping bag.

“Yeah,” Lance groused, burrowing his face into the pillow.  

“Is he alright?”  Hunk’s head peeked through the hole of his sleeping bag, looking for all the world like a thick caterpillar with an almost complete cocoon.  

“Yes,” Lance’s voice was muffled in the mattress.  

“Why did he get back so late?”

“He’ll tell us later,” Lance muttered.  “Just go back to sleep.”

Lance knew there were a lot of things he should be worried about, but the need for sleep was too strong to let him stay awake with the questions troubling him.  He slipped into a dreamless and restful sleep.

***

Katie herself was in need of some sleep as well.  She could only sleep when Sammi slept and poor Sammi spent most of the night sobbing in her pillow which was inches from Katie’s pillow.  Through the night, she was torn between pretending she didn’t noticed or comforting her. She wondered if her mother fared much better from sleeping in the the armchair.

The smell of warm breakfast pulled Katie from the restless sleep she managed to attained in the early hours of morning.  Colleen had risen early and had prepared a small breakfast for them. Some of it was the leftover stew Katie had brought from next door.  Sammi picked at her food, her eyes were puffy from crying and lack of sleep. Colleen motioned for Katie to comespeak at the sink while Sammi went to the restroom down the hall.

“I’m going to do a little shopping and to speak with Sammi’s mother,” Colleen said softly.  “I want you to stay with her until I get back.”

“Alright, Mom,” Katie said, thinking about the guys next door.  How was she going to shake Sammi to meet with them?

“And keep a close eye on her.  I’m worried she might do something . . .regrettable.”

A flurry of worry interrupted Katie’s thoughts.  “Okay, Mom.”

After Colleen left, Katie looked at her watch.  She supposed the guys could use more sleep so she had time to get Sammi settled before sneaking away.  They washed the dishes and tried to clean up a bit, more for something to do more than anything else.

“Do you remember watching Betty and Ronnie?”  Sammi asked folding a towel and setting it beside the sink.

It had been an old teen drama that had been all the rage at school, but Katie never had any interest in it.  It was about an on again and off again romance between two teenagers and all the highschool angst involved. “Sorry, I never really got into it.”

“I never got to see the new season,” Sammi said ruefully.  “I’ll always wonder if Ronnie proved he never cheated on that history test or not.”

Katie thought back to watching tv with Matt.  They were both sci-fi fans and he had made her swear to record all the episodes of his favorite shows for them to binge together when he got back from Kerberos.  Sadly, tv ended the day the Galra came, first giving way to news channels reporting the orbiting ships, to covering the fighting, to static, and then nothing. Now, whoever owned a television received propaganda signals from the Galra ships.

“Do you remember the Hot Mangos?”

“Who?”

“The band!”  Sammi said shocked.  “You know! They sang  _ Rolling My Heart _ and  _ Sublime _ .  They were on the radio all the time.”

“Oh, I forgot about them,” Katie replied.  

Sammi was trying to connect with her, but they would have been in completely different cliques in school.  Katie could see Sammi sitting at the cool kids at the popular kids’ table while she ate lunch with the nerds and weirdos.  They would have been on completely opposite sides of the school pecking order and it took an alien invasion to bring them together.  

The time crawled by cleaning, fiddling with her laptop, and entertaining Sammi by remembering times before the Galra invasion.  They steered clear of topics about Sammi’s pregnancy and her mother. Katie sincerely hoped Mom could work things out with the woman, for Sammi’s sake, not that she wanted her gone, of course.

As it was getting closer to 9:00, Katie felt it time to scoot over to next door and see if the guys were awake.  “I’m going to the bathroom.”

Sammi was stretched out on the bed poring over an old wrinkle fashion magazine.  “Sure.”

“I’ll be back in a bit,” Katie said testing, seeing if Sammi was paying attention.

“Okay,” Sammi said without looking up from the pages she had read countless times.  

Pidge slipped out into the hall and moved quietly to the next apartment where she gave a quiet knock.  The big guy, Hunk, open the door and would have given a hearty greeting if Pidge didn’t press a fingers to her lip and shook her head.

“I can’t stay long.  She thinks I’m in the bathroom.”

“Sure, c’mon in.  Keith was about to tell us about last night.”

“What happened last night?”  Pidge asked stepping inside.

“Keith almost got jumped by Galra,” Hunk said worriedly.  “He never should have gone out alone.”

“It’s not my fault!”  Keith called from the table.  “And I handled it just fine.”

“Yeah, but you were helped,” Lance pointed out.  He was sitting across from Keith, his hands tapping a tattoo on the table impatiently.  “Just tell us what happened, starting with the bar.”

Keith leaned back in the chair with his arms folded across his chest.  “There’s this . . .Galra who likes to talk to me at the bar. He sits beside me and byes me a drink.  I think he suspects I’m working with you guys . . . what?”

Lance was goggling him incredulously.  “So he comes up to the bar, orders you a drink, and tries to talk to you?”  Lance said slowly, as a teacher lecturing about a difficult math equation.

“Yeah, he’s there almost every night.  I think he looks for me whenever he’s there,” Keith said, his brow furrowed in suspicion.  “He’s the same Galra officer that arrested us that night. I don’t think he bought my story about not being associated with you two.”

“So he’s been after you since he arrested us?”  Lance asked hopelessly.

“Yeah, he told Bruiser not to ban me from the bar so he can keep an eye on me.”

“You’re probably right about that,” Pidge snorted from where she and Hunk had been standing nearby, listening.

Lance waved a hand to quiet him, “What happened next?”

Then Keith explained about how he lost then in the abandoned garage, shooting the airsoft gun to create a distraction, and then being aided by Thace who helped him avoid pursuit.  Then he leaned forward with a gleam in his eyes, “Thace is an officer. He invited me into his apartment to watch the fights. He even gave me his private number to call him. Maybe while he’s watching the fight I can sneak away and . . .what!?”

This did not get him the reaction he had expected.  They weren’t intrigued, amazed, or eager for the opportunity that had landed at their feet.  Pidge broke into giggles after struggling to stifle them, Hunk’s face turned bright red and he looked away, and Lance planted his face onto the table and smacked his head three times on the surface.  

When Lance lifted his head, his forehead now sporting a red mark, “Keith, he won’t be paying attention to the games.”

Keith gave him a quizzical look.  “He invited me to watch the games with him.  What else would he be doing!?”

Pidge couldn’t contain herself, “Getting into your pants!”

Keith blinked.  Before he could speak, Lance held up a finger, “Keith, I swear to God, if you ask what he would want in your pants, I’ll flip this table!”

Keith’s cheeks turned a harsh shade of pink and he blustered, “What are you talking about!?  It’s not like that!”

“Oh, you poor stupid anti-social nimrod,” Lance bemoaned and then held out his hands, “Keith, try to think about it for a second.”  Then he held up a finger, “One, he buys you a drink in a bar. Two,” Lance added a second finger, “he gives you his phone number and three,” a third finger goes up, “he invites you back to his place . . .” Lance ended it there and held out a hand to Keith indicated it was his time to put the pieces together.  And in case, he needed a little more help, he added, “And this guy came rushing to your rescue last night to save you from a mugging like some cheap 90’s superhero flicks.”

Keith wrinkled his nose, disbelieving.  Then Pidge noticed the thought processes turning in his head.  Slowly his eyes grew wide and his cheeks went from white to neon pink.  The stoic youth looked as if he wished the floor would collapse beneath him so he wouldn’t be in the same room as them.  

Pidge felt sorry for him, but wanted to get the meeting back on track, “We can still use this . . .”

“How!?”  Lance said leaning back in his chair with arms crossed.  “You gonna hide in Keith’s pocket and hack this guy’s computer while he’s popping Keith’s cherry?”

Keith’s eyes flashed, “Hey!”

“Can it, virgin,” Lance snapped.  

“Would you two just stop!?”  Pidge yelled, slamming both hands on the table.  “Let me finished before you tear into each other again.  I can’t go with Keith, but I don’t have to. I can do it remotely from here.  All he has to do is plant a transponder on the Galra’s computer and I can do the rest with my laptop.”

“Is that possible?”  Lance said askance with his arms crossed.  

Hunk nodded eagerly, “Yeah, if the computer is on and its linked to the exonet, we can root around in his files through remote access.”  His dark eyes were brightening and he smacked a fist into an open hand, “And if it has access to the extranet, then we can do the data mining without risking the police station!”  

The more Lance heard, the more he liked it.  They could accomplish the mission tonight with the least amount of danger to all of them.    

“Wait, wait, wait,” Keith said holding up both hands.  “What about the police station?”

“What about the police station!?”  Lance said shaking his head. “You’re going to your boyfriend’s apartment.”

“He’s not my boyfriend!”  Keith blurted out, his face darkening.  “Thace knows me! If he finds out his computer has been hacked, he’ll know it was me and he’ll know where to find me!  Since we’re all living in the same building and all you guys are blacklisted, it won’t be a long stretch for him to think you were in on it too.  With the police station, if everything goes according to plan, then they won’t have any faces attached to the hacking.”

Hunk’s excitement fell to doubt.  “That’s true . . .”

Pidge shook her head, “The police station is too risky.  Too many things can go wrong. This way, we should have uninterrupted access to the extranet without the danger.”

“You’re banking on him not using his computer,” Keith said shaking his head.  “He’s an officer. Chances are something’s going to come up and he’s going to check his messages or send orders . . .”

“That’s where you come in, handsome!”  Lance couldn’t keep a smirk from his lips.  “You can keep him busy. We only need thirty minutes . . .”

“Doing it remotely will take longer,” Pidge admitted, but not to be deterred she said quickly, “The fights last how long?”

Keith sighed, “Two hours, sometimes three if there’s a big match or a battle royale.”

“That’s plenty of time!”  Pidge said. She moved around the table to Keith’s side, touching his arm and peering into his face, hoping he would see how indispensible this plan was.  “This will save us days of mapping out the police station. The sooner we get the intel, the sooner we can get the ship we need to find my family and Shiro.  We can get everything we need as soon as tonight.”

“Yeah, Keith, what’s your problem?”  Lance said leaning back in his chair and regarding the dark haired boy with bemusement.  “You were all gung ho about this earlier. What changed? Was it finding out the Galra had the hots for you?”

If looks could kill, Lance would have become a smoking cinder.  Pidge didn’t know whether Keith’s face was red from anger or humiliation.  He was sitting stiffly, his arms crossed and his hands clenching his elbows with white knuckle grips.  For a moment, shewas afraid Keith was going to either throw himself across the table at Lance or storm out of the room.  If Lance continued to needled Keith, than their best shot at this was gone.

As if sensing he had overstepped a line, Lance, in a reconcillary tone, said, “You don’t have to be nervous about dating.”

That was the wrong thing to say.

Keith’s expression turned dangerous.  He spat like an angry cat, “I’m not nervous!  I just don’t want to - to - I just don’t want to do it like this, alright?”

He liked it better when he believed Thace was spying on him.  He was fully prepared to sulk through any interrogatory questioning, even rendering Thace unconscious while he went through his files and maybe find his knife on the side.  Now that he realized that Thace’s interests were nothing more than the infatuations of others from school, he was overwhelmed by the humiliation, anger, and awkwardness of the entire situation.  He was more comfortable with the danger of infiltrating the police station. That made more sense as he would know what to do in that scenario.

This was out of his league and why couldn’t it be Lance in his place?  Lance would know what to do and (Keith would never admit this even under torture) more experienced with social exchanges than he.  He wouldn’t know what to say or do without blowing his cover. He needed to get out of this room, but that would be running away. That would be abandoning the mission and Pidge was right: they needed to do this to find both Shiro and the Holts.

Keith rose to his feet and the others, expecting him to walk out, all either grimaced or moved to catch his hand.  Instead, Keith halted them with a shake of his head and a long sigh, “Alright, I’ll do it. I’m going to call him right now.  Get your equipment and make sure it works because this will be the only time I ever date a Galra. Next time, it’s Lance’s turn.”

With that said, he left the room and quietly shut the door behind him.

***

Katie snuck back to the apartment to grab her laptop and wracked her brain on what to tell Sammi to excuse another extended absence.  If she claimed bathroom problems again, then Sammi might suggest she see a doctor to Mom and then Mom would be wondering what was really going on.  She creeped through the door and glanced around. Sammi was sitting at the table still reading, but this time it was a different magazine with wrinkled pages.  Katie hoped she wouldn’t be noticed as she made her way to where she put her laptop.

“Katie?”  Sammi called.

Katie closed her eyes and sighed, “Yes, Sammi?”

“Where were you?”  She looked up from her magazine, curiously watching Katie.

Katie stiffen her back, not liking that she was being questioned like this by someone who was not only her mother, but around her own age.  “The bathroom. I had some stomach problems.”

“Did they make you go invisible?”  Sammi said turning around in her seat to face Katie.  “I went to the bathroom, but you weren’t there.”

Katie struggled not to look guilty.  “I went downstairs to stretch my legs, then my stomach acted up again.”

Sammi narrowed her blue eyes into tiny beads.  “I heard you laughing next door.”

Pidge nearly said ‘what were you doing creeping around next door’, but stopped herself.  Doing so would only incriminate her, instead Katie shrugged, “I don’t know what you heard, but it wasn’t me.  Why would I be hanging around with boys?”

Then Sammi’s eyes flashed,  “How do you know there were boys next door?”

All words left Katie’s head as she faltered for an excuse.  Then she finally said, “I met one of them the other day. He gave us a pizza when we needed it.”

“That guy lives on the other end of the hall.  I’m talking about the guys that moved in next door yesterday.”

Indignant, Katie demanded, “How do you know that?”

“I got bored and went downstairs.  The landlord lady was griping about them, saying she wished they were as quiet as the other guy that's been here a while.  I saw him leaving the room before you did.”

Then a picture formed in Katie’s head that she didn’t like.  She could see Sammi going to the bathroom and finding it empty.  Then Sammi lurked around next door hearing voices with Katie’s among them and then going downstairs to the crotchety landlady who was more than happy to vent about the boys living in that room.  Then Sammi peeking from the door to see who left the apartment. And upon seeing Katie leaving, she quickly went to the table and pretended to read the magazine until now.

Apoplectic, Katie glared viciously at Sammi, “Fine, I was hanging out with them, so what?”

“Why did you lie about it?”  Sammi said becoming as affronted as her.  

But Katie could hear the true question behind her voice.   _ Why did you lie about it to  _ me?  Did Sammi think she had left her behind to have a party next door with guys?  Wouldn’t she be in for a surprise if she discovered that it wasn’t what she thought?  That instead of hooking up or shooting the breeze they were actually planning to hack into a Galra database.

Yet, that didn’t take the sting out of being spied on for Katie.  “I don’t have to report about everything I do. You don’t have to know about everything I do just like I don’t have to know everything about what you do.”

Sammi’s face turned red, almost as red as Keith’s had been,  She turned around so fast her ponytail slashed the hair and she jerked a page across the magazine as if to state she would be ignoring Katie from now on.  Katie quietly collected her laptop and left without a word.

Midway down the hall, guilty prodded her.  Sammi likely didn’t mean any harm and had felt left out, perhaps ostracized for her condition.  Maybe she feared that Katie had been laughing at her with the others. Katie tried to hold onto her indignant anger, but it slipped away from her like sand between her fingers.  Remorseful, she considered turning around and apologizing, but to do so would open up questions she can’t answer and that may start another spat between them. She could only hope that Sammi wouldn’t tell Mom about it.  If Mom found out . . .

Well, as Dad would say, they’ll regulate that molecule when the reaction happened.     

  
  
  
  
  



	30. Thace's Quarters: Phase 1

The insistent chime was like a sharp barbs smacking the back of his head. The sheets were tangled around Thace’s legs, binding them as he rolled over to glare blearily at his commlink. He had caught only a few hours of sleep and his head was full of fog. Who was calling him? He was off duty and if it was an emergency then a different signal would be chirping at him. Haxus? No, Haxus would have been fielded to leave a voice message. This was an unknown caller. 

It took several tries, but he managed to fumble the commlink into his hand and raised it to his ear. “Y-yes . . .?”

“Did I w-wake you?” The voice sounded unsure, almost shy.

The timidity of the voice threw him for a second before he recognized it as Keith. “Keith, no, I’ve been awake.” At least, he was now. 

There was a short pause. He could hear Keith’s breathing from the other end, not loud and annoying, but soft and alluring. “You said I could watch the fights in your quarters . . .”

Thace sat nonplussed, his mind drawing a blank. It wasn’t until Keith hesitantly called his name that Thace finally remembered his offer. “Yes - I remember. . .” he said up, raking claws between his ears. “Are you wanting to come over tonight?”

“If that’s alright . . .”

“One moment,” Thace said, needing a moment to think. 

Never in his wildest dreams did he expect Keith to actually take him up on his invitation. The youth had his comm channel number for weeks and never used it, in fact, Thace had suspected it had been discarded and forgotten short after he gave it. What had motivated Keith to call him now? 

An eagerness to have Keith come over peppered his mind while a more stolid part of him told him to be wary. Keith didn’t seem the sort to do something without a strong motive guiding his actions. Then he realized what it was that Keith could be after. He sighed as he remembered the knife. The human had it in his head that he could steal back the knife from his quarters right under his own nose. With that piece of the puzzle in place, he was able to think coherently. 

He already made plans to visit Haxus tonight, but that can easily be cancel with an excuse that he needed to make some personal calls and do some clerical work in his quarters. He could walk Keith in through the less frequented halls to his quarters, during the later hours when most Galra would be enjoying their off duty hours. The knife could be moved to a better hiding place and Keith would be in his presence for the whole visit. After thinking it through, he saw no obstacles to having the youth over, yet there was a inkling of suspicion that refused to be ignored. 

It was his feelings for Keith that worry him. His mentor taught him and others that emotions were dangerous in their line of work, especially the ones void of logic and power. Fear was logical as it kept you safe and kept you from taking costly risks. Anger was a powerful fuel for action. Sorrow can maintain one’s focus on the task at hand and lust can alleviate stress. Other emotions such as love, affection, passion, pride, and jealousy have led more than one Blade to their own demise at the cost of a mission.

He had taken more time than was necessary to think matters over. Keith may have disconnected already. “Keith?”

“Yes?” The voice was soft with a slight hint of anticipation that triggered a feather of warmth deep in Thace’s bones. 

“There’s an old office building across from the barracks. I’ll meet you there at 6:00 and walk you inside. Don’t come early or you’ll be questioned for loitering near Galra property.”

“Sure.”

There was a puzzled pause between them. Now what?

“I don’t have any of those sugar drinks you like,” Thace said to fill in that silence. “I can buy some - ”

“I can bring my own,” Keith said quickly, almost brusquely. As if Thace’s hospitality would have been insulting. “I’ll see you at 6:00.”

Without any salutation, Keith hung up. Thace set the commlink down to rub his eyes and go over his plans for the day. First, he needed to cancel his tryst with Haxus, then he had to oversee the new cadets’ inspection, regulate human’s travel passes both coming and going, then send a report to Command. He could forego a few more hours of sleep to start the report now and finish it after handling the passports.

Checking his messages, he saw that Haxus had already canceled for tonight to follow a new lead in his investigation that had been stagnating for so long. Good. Anything to keep Prorok from sending more scathing demands for answers and action regarding the murders. It seemed his shore leave did little to ease his stress. In fact, it seemed he was even more agitated than before he left. 

***

“You guys now have a timetable,” Keith said when he returned to the apartment, coming in without knocking much to Lance’s annoyance as this wasn’t his apartment after all. “I’m meeting him at 6:00 outside the barracks.”

“Plenty of time,” Pidge said, fingers flying across the keyboard at a near blur. The coding reflected off the glasses, hiding the bright brown eyes behind them. 

Hunk was bent over the table soldering some knickknack onto a motherboard with a tongue tuck in the corner of his mouth. It was the same concentrated he carried whenever he was displaying his fine culinary skills. “Oh yeah, we can get some test runs in this morning and polish it up after lunch.”

Lance, having none of the technical whiz as Hunk and Pidge, was sitting in a chair by the window staying out of the way. With feet propped on the window sill, he enjoyed the cool morning air and the sun on his face and thought of the beaches back home. As always, whenever he thought of home, it brought back memories, that still stung, of his family and how he still didn’t know if they were alive or not.

He shoved the thoughts downward into a hidden spot at the back of his mind as he moved to the forefront the nonsensical need to hassle Keith. “So, do you need some tips on dating or do you think you watched enough chick flicks to figure it out?”

“Shut up,” Keith snapped as he predictably took up a corner of the room that offered space between him and the others. 

Lance wondered if Keith consciously sought out farthest corner of the room or did he do it naturally without thinking about it. It ticked off the cadets in the academy that thought Keith did it because he thought himself too cool to hang with them which had been the same notion Lance shared, but now Lance was beginning to suspect it had more to do with Keith’s lack of social skills. He was uncomfortable around others so he stayed away from them and became flustered and confused when someone invaded his space and came off as rude and offhanded which led to misunderstandings.

Which was worrisome. What if Keith blew it tonight? Could he manage to plug the thumb drive into computer without the Galra noticing and keep him occupied long enough for them to get what they needed? What if Keith pissed off the Galra and was kicked out before they had a chance to run the spyware? Or he gives them away by some nervous social hang up? He would trust Keith in a fire fight, but dating? No way. 

Then there was Pidge and Hunk who were so eagerly working with their electronic doodads. Pidge, who is either a lying little runt or Katie Holt pretending to be a boy. After thinking about it for a while, Lance had to admit it was a smart move on her part. If things go south, then the Galra would be looking for a short kid named Pidge, not a girl named Katie Holt. And Hunk was excited about working with tech now, but once the mission is underway he’ll be biting his nails and predicting doom at every minute.

This wasn’t the team he would have chosen, but this was what he had. Making lemonade from lemons as his mother would have said. Damn, thinking of her was dampening his spirit again. 

***

Pidge tried not to let too much time go by before checking to see if Mom got back, but whenever she was enthralled by a project, time ran away from her until she woke up slump over her computer in the early morning. If Mom returned and she wasn’t there, then Sammi might tell her about her going next door. And if Mom came knocking . . . yeah, that wouldn’t be good at all.

Without drawing attention, she made a point of peeking out the window to see if her mother was coming up the street before letting herself be absorbed with working on the the relay program with Hunk. It was refreshing to chat with someone who understood processors and logarithms. Like he expected, they were finished with the relay by noon with enough time to do some test runs before the 6:00 deadline. 

However, she still had her mother to contend with. Colleen had been adamant that she cut all ties with the rebels and leave the district with her. Pidge dreaded having to face down her mother as she surely couldn’t stop now when finding Dad and Matt so close at hand. It was going to be another bad row and it took Galra raiding the house to mend fences after the last one, though one could say it was shaky at best.

Pidge excused herself, saying that she needed to be next door in case her mother returned. Which was too late as when she slipped inside the next door apartment, her mother was already in the kitchen putting away groceries and Sammi was helping her. Pidge stood in the doorway waiting for the demands for an explanation of where she had been, and a severe diatribe of her being foolish and stubborn.

Yet, Colleen turned, gave her a greeting smile, and said, “Did you get the aspirin for Sammi?”

Pidge opened her mouth to say, ‘What aspirin?’, but noticed Sammi urgently nodding at her from where she had been storing frozen foods with the freezer door open to block Colleen’s view of her. She swallowed back her question and said, “I couldn’t find any. The store was out.”

Her sharp thinking let her remember there was a corner convenience store a few blocks away and it wasn’t uncommon for stores to run out of what had been a taken for granted commodity like aspirin these days. 

“It was very nice of you to go to the store for Sammi since she didn’t feel comfortable going outside,” Colleen said in the lilting way mothers used to confirm if what they were saying was true or not with their children. 

Again, there was a sharp nod from Sammi and Pidge said, “Yeah, the store owner helped me look, but we couldn’t find any so I came home.” Here’s to hoping Mom doesn’t talk to the store owner later, but Pidge had no idea how long ago Mom had returned nor how much time she needed to account for. 

“You can help me with lunch while Sammi takes a shower,” Colleen said setting an old skillet on the stove. 

She knew that Mom didn’t actually need her help, as Pidge had developed the means to burn water during her last venture with the stove. Colleen wanted to speak with her without Sammi in hearing. Sammi collected a towel and fresh clothes from a set of bags next to the couch that hadn’t been there before. Seeing them brought a weight of dread for Pidge, sensing that things didn’t go over well with Sammi’s mother. 

Once Sammi had left with a soft, ‘I’ll be back soon’, Pidge sidle to her mother near the stove. Colleen’s lips were set in a regretful line while she set out what she needed for grilled cheese sandwiches. “What happened with Sammi’s mom?”

Colleen sighed pitiably, “Sometimes I wonder why some women choose to become mothers when their hearts aren’t into it.”

Pidge didn’t know what to say, but stayed quiet knowing Colleen would continue when she was ready. 

Colleen worked silently for a few moments before she continued, “Her mother refuses to take her back. She said it was high time Sammi learned to take care of herself and getting herself pregnant was just the catalyst for her to get on with her own life and live with her own mistakes.” Colleen spoke bitterly while she turned on the stove and sliced a small bit of butter from the little yellow bar which had been wrapped in plastic wrap. “I’ll credit her for allowing me to pack up the rest of Sammi’s clothes and bring them to her. She’s not a complete bitch.”

Pidge couldn’t have been more surprised than if her mother had turned into a Galra in front of her. “Mom!” 

Shocked by her own words, Colleen turned to Pidge and admonished, “Now don’t think because I said that gives you the permission to do so too. I’m still a bit upset by how that ‘woman’ is so willing to kick out her daughter when that poor girl needs her mother the most.”

 

“But, didn’t you explain that she was raped? That it wasn’t her fault?” 

“Honestly, honey, I don’t think it mattered to that ‘woman’.” Again, Colleen said woman in such a way that it inferred she rather be calling her something else. “Having a teenager under your roof is one thing, but a teenager with a baby was more than she was willing to take on.” Colleen sigh dejectedly on Sammi’s behalf. “We’ll have to help her the best we can and take her with us, though, I have no idea what we’ll manage with a baby.”

“Mom, Sammi doesn’t want it.”

Colleen made another sad sigh, “I know. Maybe we can wait until after she has it and we can give it to the Galra if they’ll take it.”

“No, Sammi doesn’t want to have it at all,” Pidge said slowly. “She told me that she doesn’t want to increase their number by one, even if it's half-human.”

Colleen closed her eyes, pausing in the midst of cutting the sandwich she had been making in half. “There’s nothing she can do about that. There are no doctors in town that can perform an abortion and I don’t dare let her do it herself and get herself hurt or end up killing herself.”

Pidge thought back to Sammi telling her about taking medicine to invoke a miscarriage and decided not to tell Mom as she would become more upset by the news. And like Mom, she was worried about what they were going to do with an unwanted baby?

 

***

Pidge slipped outside after telling Colleen she was going downstairs to ask if there were any other medicine stores around. It was a flimsy excuse, but Colleen seemed so disturbed by Sammi’s mother that she took little notice of her own daughter hurrying outside. 

She caught Sammi on her way back as she was toweling her damp hair and wore a fresh sweatshirt with leggings. She carried her other clothes in front of her to hide the swell of her stomach and paused when she saw Pidge. Before Pidge could speak, she said haughtily, “I’m not a snitch, so don’t make any big deal out of it, okay?”

“Okay,” Pidge muttered shoving both hands into her pockets. “I . . . just wanted to say thanks for covering for me. You didn’t have to.”

Sammi shrugged. “Yeah, well, I did it anyway even though you’re embarrassed to be around me.”

Pidge’s eyebrows rose. “Wait! You think I didn’t tell you about going next door because you’re pregnant! No! That’s not it!”

“Then what!?” Sammi demanded, her eyes blazing with indignation. 

Pidge bobbed her hands in a hasty motion of keeping their voices down. “I didn’t want to get you involved.”

“Involved in what?” 

“It’s dangerous,” Pidge admitted without considering her choice of words.

Sammi’s mouth dropped open, her face going white. “Katie . . . are you dealing drugs!?”

“What!? NO!” Pidge shouted, but then nearly strangled herself to stay quiet. “No! Nothing like that . . .it’s just . . .we can be in a lot of trouble if we get caught . . .”

“Trouble with the Galra?” There was a slight glint in Sammi’s eye when she said Galra. “You’re doing something that’ll make them mad, aren’t you?”

Pidge blinked, taken aback by how Sammi was able augur that information seemingly out of nowhere. “I didn’t say anything about Galra.”

“You said it's dangerous and ‘get in trouble’ if you’re caught. Who’s going to catch you? The cops? They aren’t around anymore. It’s the Galra . . . in fact, there was trouble in that factory you were working at . . .”

“That had nothing to do with me!” Pidge weakly lied. 

“That happened the same night you were walking around hurt!” Sammi cried beaming, proud of her own deductions. “You were running away from the Galra, weren’t you!”

“Alright, jeez, j-just keep it down!” Pidge hissed taking Sammi’s shoulders, desperate for her not to shout loud enough for everyone on the block to hear. “Yes, I was . . . I was doing something for the rebels, but don’t ask me anything else. I’m not getting you involved.”

“Rebels . . .” Sammi whispered in rapt awe. “You’re working with rebels . . .” Then slowly, her eyes narrowed and her face harden into a scowl. “I want in.”

Again, Pidge blinked, unsure she understood Sammi’s words. “Sorry?”

“You heard me, I want to join.”

“Why!?”

“Why do you think!?” Sammi dropped her clothes and pulled up her shirt. “Look what one of them did to me and I bet there’s another one out there doing the same to another girl! Mom doesn’t want me and I got nowhere else to go. This is what I needed right now.”

“No, its not,” Pidge pleaded. “We’re in the middle of a mission . . .” then she paused, her eyes widening. Sammi was what she needed right now. After several moments of conflict and finally reaching a decision, she said, “Alright, if you want in, then I need you to help me come up with a cover story for tonight. I’m going to be next door for several hours and Mom cannot know what I’m really doing over there . . .”

“Okay!” Sammi said pleased, almost skipping in place, but then she paused. “What exactly are you doing next door?”

Pidge picked up the dropped clothing and handed them back to her. “I’ll explain later. Right now, you have to backup my story that we were invited to play video games with some guys next door who are okay to hang out with because you know them. If Mom starts to say no, then look sad. Trust me, if you wanted a pony, Mom would go out and get you one right now.”

“Alright,” Sammi said almost nervously, but still relieved that she was being accepted. 

***

Pidge only had to sit back, eat quietly, and sometimes chime in every now and then. Sammi pretty much had control of the dialogue with Colleen about hanging out with strange boys she never met. Pidge had supplemented the names and brief descriptions before Sammi embarked on her consular task. 

“Lance has an amazing video game collection,” Sammi said with open eye innocence. “He invited us over to play tonight.”

Colleen pursed her lips, not liking the idea of two girls hanging out alone with boys she didn’t know. “I thought you couldn’t play video games without the internet . . .“

Pidge tagged in. “Some games you do, but most of them you don’t need an internet connection as long as you have the disk or it’s already downloaded.” Thankfully, the Galra saw no need to ban video gaming consoles and those who had consoles with games installed were able to sell these for small fortunes. Playing video games was a rare and expensive treat, nearly too good to pass up on a normal day in Pidge’s opinion. 

“Well, I still don’t like the idea of you two staying up too late.” It was a weak excuse that even Pidge could argue through, but she let Sammi take the reins.

With expert precision, Sammi spoke with enough whine, forthrightness, respect, and confidence that Pidge believed she would have made an excellent public speaker. “We’ll be right next door so if anything happens we only have to yell. There won’t be any drinking or drugs because who can afford those anymore? Please, Mrs. Holt, it’ll be so much fun.”

***

At 2:00 clock, Pidge came in with a pretty girl with long dark hair wearing a bulky sweatshirt. Lance instantly recognized her as the girl who came running into the park to warn Pidge (or Katie) about the Galra. As much as he appreciated the new face, he couldn’t help being up in arms about Pidge bringing in someone new.

“Who is she?” He was torn between demanding or coyly inquiring, so he settled for inquiringly curious. 

“This is Sammi,” Pidge said unceremoniously before she hopped into a change where her laptop had been sitting in sleep mode. It hummed to life when she tapped a few keys, as lovingly as a spouse waking up their partner. “She’s gonna be helping us out. Mostly by keeping Mom off our back.”

Hunk had already tested the relay and said it could carry a clear signal. They had managed to pulse the exonet without any reaction or probes from the network. A discovery, that had come from Europe, that it was possible to hijack the exonet to send signals and messages, but it could only be done in short spurts of data lest it be investigated. And it was better done with old analog equipment which the Galra tech couldn’t recognize, but carried limited data. 

“We won’t worry about that since the information is coming from a Galra officer’s computer,” Pidge explained to the non-technical people of the group. “They’ll assume he’s working on something or better yet, it’s possible his computer is encoded with an encryption that prevents anyone from seeing what information is being transferred.” 

“What if they search me?” Keith asked from his isolated corner of the room. He was sitting on the floor where he was fidgeting with his hands as if he was missing something that he ached to get back.

“Simple,” Pidge said as Hunk presented a coke bottle. “You said you were bringing sodas, so we’re going to use this bottle to get the relay inside the barracks.”

Hunk held up a small tubular piece of wax. “We’re going to mold this around the relay and glue it to the bottom of this bottle which we’ll fill up with soda fifteen minutes before your meeting with Thace. It’ll take about 40 minutes for the soda to dissolve the glue and it’ll float to the top for you to get out. If you need it sooner than that, just give the bottle a shake and it’ll come loose.”

“Just be sure to keep it in your pocket and act like you’ve been drinking out of it,” Pidge added. “That way he won’t pay any attention to it.”

Keith nodded, finding no fault with the plan thus far. “So I’ll peel off the wax and use the relay. Where do I plug it in?”

“Assuming it’s like the one in the factory office,” Pidge said holding up a rough sketch of the Galra computer she had drawn earlier. “It’ll be on the side or the front. The port should look like this. All you have to do is plug it in and the program will install itself and get to work. When you leave, just unplug it and the program will delete itself once it hasn’t been used within five minutes.”

“Clever,” Lance said impressed. No wonder Pidge had been sought out by the rebels. This guy (girl) really knew their stuff. “What time do the fights start?”

Keith shrugged, “Usually, 6:30 or 7:00, but sometimes they’ll push it back for some reason. Once they didn’t start until 9:30.”

“Okay, so assuming they start at 6:30, how long do they last?” Lanced asked. He was leaning forward at the table, a bead of sweat glistened on his brow. 

“Depends on how long the fights are. Usually around two hours, sometimes three.” If Keith was worried about his part in the mission, he didn’t show it. He sat with legs cross and hands resting on his knees, relaxed, but Lance knew he could leap to action within a blink. 

“Alright, so just as the fights are starting, plug the relay into the computer. We’ll just assume we only have two hours from start to finish, that is unless something goes wrong.” Lance struggled to keep from sweating, but they were getting close to the point of no return. If this goes belly up, then they were all in the thick of it. The plan seemed so easy when he thought of it this morning, but now he was seeing the flaws and they were fatal. 

Keith cut through his thoughts with a remark. “I may need time to look for his computer . . .”

“No,” Lance said dismissively. “He’ll show you around. Haven’t you ever invited a girl over before? He’s probably cleaning his quarters right now and making dinner for a date.”

“It’s not a date!” Keith was bristling, his face nearly red as his jacket. 

“It’s alright. I never pegged you as someone having sex on the first date.” 

“Lance, knock it off,” Hunk muttered, shooting a side look that reminded him that they needed Keith. If he got angry with the taunting and bailed on them now, then the whole plan falls through.

As if to soothe the atmosphere, Sammi interjected kindly, “Just ask him if you can use the bathroom before the games start and go again before you leave. It’s no big deal. I always use the bathroom before and after a movie.” She sat back, proud that she was able to contribute to the mission, even if it was just a small bit of advice.

“And you have to keep him away from his computer,” Pidge said earnestly, to get them focused on the mission. “He might see the relay.’

“We’ll . . . we’ll talk or watch the fights,” Keith said slowly, a small crack in his calm demeanor, “I think I can keep him occupied until the end of the fights . . .”

Lance couldn’t help himself. “Sure, I’m sure he’ll have plenty of condoms.” 

“Lance!” Both Pidge and Hunk barked. Even Sammi was frowning at him disapprovingly. 

***

“I know you’re nervous, Lance, but hassling Keith isn’t helping.” Hunk later said quietly in the kitchen. “Can’t you tell that Keith is nervous too?”

 

Pidge was at the laptop staring at it with the same reverence a fortune teller would a crystal ball. Sammi was sitting beside her looking over her shoulder curiously, like a small perched bird. Lance wondered what her story was. She certainly didn’t seem like rebel material, but who was anymore? In the early days of the Galra takeover, anyone affiliated with the Garrison, military, and police force were in demand and recruited. Now, two years later, anyone who could see and shoot were welcomed into the ranks. 

Lance sighed and reached into the fridge for one of the sodas left behind. “You’re right. I’m nervous as hell. So much shit can go wrong.” 

“Yeah and Keith is going to be right in the epicenter of it,” Hunk said reprovingly. “He’s the one that got his neck on the line for us and then next it will be us.”

“If they interrogate him, he won’t talk,” Lance said leaning against the kitchen counter and popping open the can. He was surprised by the strength in his belief in Keith’s steadfast silence. Despite his dislike of the guy, Lance believed Keith would take a beating and not say one word about who or where his team was.

Hunk nodded, believing in Keith too. “Just lay off him, okay? Would you rib Sandy for what she does to get information?”

Unwanted shame fell over him and Lance looked away. “I’ll keep it in check until after the mission. If we all survive that is.”

“Hey, I’m the pessimistic one, remember?” Hunk reminded him, trying to give him an encouraging smile, but faltered at the edges. 

His eyes were filled with worry and possibly carried more fear than both Keith and Lance combined. Hunk had never been a brave man. He had only enlisted with the Garrison for the engineering program, not to fight in any wars, but was drawn into one when the Galra invaded. Lance wondered why he hadn’t left for home as many students had when news came that the Galra were preparing to attack. Nor did he abandon the army when the Galra won the war like so many after the surrender. Hunk was loyal and stayed he was needed, despite his own fears. 

Lance clapped him on the shoulder. “We’ll let you do all the worrying for us. Keith will keep it together, the eggheads will workout all the technical jargon, and Sammi and I will sit here and look pretty together.”

Hunk snorted, rolling his eyes, forever exasperated by Lance’s neverending pursuit of the fairer sex, but his smile turned genuine which hearten Lance. 

They both returned to the main room and seeing the relay laid out with the coke bottle and Pidge working away at her computer brought a fresh wave of fear over him. So, yeah, maybe annoying Keith was a way to channel or hide how much anxiety he was feeling. Suddenly, Lance felt an unwanted sliver of shame. He was team leader on this mission and here is was harassing the guy who was taking point. Iverson may have insulted and threaten the cadets during drills, but that served the purpose of motivation. Shiro only gave encouragement and inspiration when he took over a training simulation. 

For several long minutes, Lance avoided looking at Keith and anyone else in the room, other than Sammi who was too pretty not to look at . . .despite her condition.

*** 

Before Keith left for his missing with Thace, Lance took him aside to talk quietly in a corner far from the others. The dark haired youth regarded him with a stubborn wariness, expecting more lame jokes about his upcoming predicament. Lance kept his face neutral, but encouraging. “We won’t know what’s going on so we can’t really help you while you’re in the barracks.”

“I know,” Keith said stiffly, straightening his shoulders as if in show that he needed little help, if at all. 

“Listen, if you get compromised or it gets too dangerous, just abandon the mission,” Lance said in a low voice. “We can still get what we need from the police station.”

“I can handle it,” Keith whispered firmly, his eyes slowly narrowing. 

“I know you can, but we can’t,” Lance said with just as much rigor. “Keith, it’s not just you at risk. Hunk and I can fight,” maybe he was giving Hunk a bit too much credit, “but Pidge can’t fight and Sammi’s pregnant.”

Keith’s unwavering gaze falter as his eyes went to the kitchen where Sammi was leaning over Hunk’s shoulder to eye what he was preparing in the kitchen. He was speaking in that eager tone his voice took on whenever he was excited about his gourmet endeavours. Her hands were on the counter, instead of at being at her front as if she was carrying a clutch of eggs, so she could watch Hunk. Keith could see slight curvature beneath the sweat shirt. 

“How did you know?” Keith asked, almost impressed.

“I come from a big family with five aunts, four older sisters and dozens of cousins from both sides. It’s considered a slow year when we only have two marriages and three baby showers,” Lance said with a casual shrug. “I wished Pidge hadn’t brought her in without checking with us first, but there’s nothing we can do about it now.”

Lance placed a hand on Keith’s shoulder who went still, but didn’t shrug it off nor step away. “If anything goes wrong grab the relay or destroy the computer. If the signal disconnects early, we’re going to pack it up and go to the school. Sammi says there’s a hole in the fence next to the football field and she can pick the lock on the sports shed. We’ll stay there until morning and then move on. If you’re not there by then . . . we’ll assume you couldn’t make it.”

Keith stared at Lance for several heartbeats before he slowly nodded, “You can trust me. I won’t put you and the others in danger.”

Lance nodded back and offered a hand. “Good luck out there.”

After a second’s hesitation, Keith accepted his hand with a firm grasp. “Thanks.”


	31. Thace's Quaters: Phase 2

Vix’s homebrew drink had been a friend to Haxus for many years. It helped with stress while keeping the drinker alert with a sharp mind. The recipe consisted of coffee with three shots of Alluvian brandy, a sprinkling of Chotix pepper, and a few drops of quintessence. Just after a few sips, Haxus could feel his head clearing, the stress easing away, and his mind becoming more focus.

He had ended communication with Prorok who was near frothing at the mouth for any information of his investigation and an hour long diatribe ensue about how the Empire was weakening due to the incompetence of its lieutenants and how in his day, when he was a lieutenant, such disappointments were tossed into the arena or used as frontline meat shields along with half-breeds. Whatever happened on his furlough, must have masticated his last nerves.

Churlishly, Haxus pulled up all the data he had on the case and summoned up Vix with orders to mix up a large batch of his brew and be prepared to pore over files for the next ten varga. He was determined to make some headway today so he could fling it into Prorok’s wide tusked face. However, five varga’s later and they kept hitting wall after wall after wall. 

Nothing made sense. Why kidnap and murder three Galra? Why take only the femors and the organs? Where were they murdered? Margery Kayla knew something about the murders, but everyone of her haunts were burned to the ground by the time they arrived. Drones and men picked through the burnt blacken husks and found nothing feasible for his investigation. What was maddening was he knew the missing piece of the puzzle was in front of him, but he couldn’t see it. 

He drained his cup and set it down a sharp thunk. “I need more of your brew and a bigger glass.”

There was no response, save for the urgent tapping of claw tips on a physical keyboard. Haxus looked up to see Vix leaning towards the holo-screen, his eyes large and bright, reflecting the Galra sigils skittering before him. Haxus was behind the holoscreen so everything was backwards from his view, but he did recognize some of the human’s language. He moved around the table, knowing that Vix only became so excited if he found a wellspring of valuable information. 

“Most of this was encrypted due to United States medical confidentiality policies,” Vix explained as Haxus leaned over him to eye the screen. “The hard part was translating once I broke the encryption, but that’s the reason why this didn’t pull up during our searches. It wasn’t public information.”

“What am I looking at?” Haxus asked steadily.

“Medical files, well, actually patient complaints, lawsuits for malpractice, Medical Board records and hearings,” Vix said bringing up pages of information. “It’s a lot, but they all have one thing in common. Margery Kayla, or better known as Dr. Margery Kayla, surgeon and MD.”

Haxus’s ears twitched in barely suppressed shocked. “That derange rodent was a doctor? A medical doctor?”

“Yes, a surgeon, an endocrinologist, hospitalist, and she also wrote scientific articles for infectious diseases,” Vix summarize, compiling it all into a report. “She was a celebrated surgeon according to her medical background. She was sought for the most difficult operations with a near 100 percent success rate.”

“Then why the lawsuits?”

“She did hours as an internal medicine doctor in the hospitals’ free clinic. She was rather, well, read for yourself.”

Vix typed a few keys and brought up one of the medical board’s records and sent it to the corner for Haxus to read while he pulled up more files. 

She wrote my husband a prescription for a pillow. For me to suffocate him with!

The doctor was smirking when she said my tests came back positive for cancer.

The doctor was very rude and insulting to her patients and nurses. 

She keeps lowering the dosages for my pain medicine. I tell her it doesn’t help with the pain, but she said that pain was the sign that it's time for me to die and I should get on with it.

And on and on, page after page, of complaints made by patients, nurses, and other doctors. Dr. Kayla was never fired, however, she was strongly persuaded to transfer to another hospital. What kept her from losing her job was her success as a surgeon and her renown as a scientist at the CDC. Finally, the missing piece of the puzzle clicked into place.

“She did it,” he breathed, thinking back the neat surgical cuts on the bodies and the missing organs and bones. “That little wretch killed them and had her cronies bury the bodies in the desert.”

“I still can’t determine why she took selected organs and the bones, sir,” Vix said. “It’s a fair assumption that she’s studying them, but is it for her own gain or for the rebels?”

“She would have needed an operating studio to take their organs,” Haxus touched his chin thoughtfully. “They were still alive when she took the organs so she needed to strapped them down or put under with plenty of light. But we haven’t found anything like that in any of her previous hideouts.”

“It could be a moving vehicle. Something that can easily be transported and hidden. I can see them backing up to one of the graves and pushing them out into the hole.”

“Something like that would have been detected by one of our drones,” Haxus replied sharply, becoming frustrated. They had made taken a step forward, but it had gotten them nowhere. All signs point to Margery Kayla being the murderer, but why? She said it herself that Galra were her best paying customers so why kill any of her buyers? No, she killed only three, not enough to damage her profits, but still why? The woman didn’t strike him as patriotic enough to join the rebels, unless she was being paid to do so. Yes, he could easily see her coming to arrangements with them if they could pay her price. So what were they looking for in the organs of dead Galra? 

The best way to find out was to find her and force the answers from her mouth. “Good find, Vix, compile the information into a small database for me. Since we know who she is, I want a detailed dossier and if you find anything that can help, notify me immediately.”

Haxus called up a squad to search through Kayla’s previous haunts on the off chance they missed something and sent a message to Thace’s comm letting him know that he wouldn’t make it tonight. He was going to the cells down below where Kayla’s followers, the ones they were able to find, and see what the interrogators were able to drag out of them. If needed, he will performed the interrogations himself and he will not show restraint. 

***

The afternoon air was hot and thick, like syrup on skin. Beads of sweat rolled down his neck, but he didn’t wipe them away nor scratch, but kept his eyes focus on the barracks just yards away. It was heavily monitored and guarded and having only just arrived as Thace had instructed and could stand unmolested for a few minutes more. 

The streets were empty during this time of day; people only travel this close to curfew unless they had to. Keith, being the lone pedestrian, stood out like an single flag post on an open field. He stood straight, not slouching against the wall nor with hunched shoulders. His hands were filled with the six pack of soda and the half full bottle of soda he held tightly as if fearing that any second someone would steal it from his hand.

He had only arrived five minutes ago and not two minutes more passed before Thace came out to collect him. The Galra seemed nervous, furtively glancing around for other eyes to see them. Keith worried that Thace was going to back down and tell him tonight was not good, but he beckoned him along. “Stay close to me and don’t wander. Only speak if you must.”

He spoke as if they were about to walk through a dangerous forest at night. From what Keith could see there wasn’t much difference between that and walking through barracks full of Galra. Thace led him through an opening in the wall and through a side door Keith had glimpsed sentries coming and going earlier. As soon as he was inside, cool air made the sweat still clinging to his skin turn cold. The difference in temperature between inside and outside was startling, it had been so long since he had been inside an air conditioned building. Such luxuries were abandoned for needed things such as food and medicine. 

He was able to enjoy it for a few moments before he felt cold. The cold sweat clung to him like gel, feeling thick and itchy, but he didn’t dare loosen his grip on the sodas, especially the bottle. He focused on the task at hand and that was to follow Thace through the barracks, though, he did allow himself to glance around the interior of a Galra building. 

Unlike most of the Galra facilities, this building hasn’t been revamped to Galra standards, but built from the ground up. There was no sign of human of architecture nor design here. The ceilings were high and walls widen at the top with purple lights glowing ever few feet leaving the interior dark and cool. Keith suspected that it had it had been designed in mind for the Galra’s greater height with see in the dark amber eyes and fur or tough skin to keep them warm. This was a not a building to greet soft skin sensitive human visitors.

After taking short elevator ride up, Thace took Keith down a long hall, past several doors that he could guess belonged to other officers who were out. The doors has small holographic plagues which he could only assume had their names. Thace led him to one and opened the door, ushering him inside.

With a sense of sudden hesitation, as if he was about to step off the edge of a cliff, Keith walkthrough the open door. Thace came in behind him close. Was it to get inside quickly so no one would see them? Or was he trying to be close?

It took a great deal of will to keep from taking a sudden step away. Until Thace’s made his intentions known, Keith’s plan was to act casual, but alert. He scanned the room, trying to pick out a terminal, but didn’t see it. What he did see was large couch with thick heavy cushions, a side area for cooking and eating and a doorway from where he could see a corner of a bed. Save for the alien design and dark walls, it resembled any normal apartment, so much so it was almost jarring. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, perhaps furniture of what purpose he couldn’t ascertain, but carried out simple but monotonous functions? Or a rack of weapons on every wall? Or plans for the next invasion pinned to the walls? It was a more normal than Keith had been anticipating. He would have preferred it to look more alien to keep him from losing focus. 

He didn’t realized Thace was speaking to him until he felt, more than saw, Thace raising a hand to touch him. “Oh, sorry? What?”

“I can put your drinks in the cooler if you like,” Thace repeated.

Feeling sheepish, cursing his lack of social tact, and hating being here, Keith handed over the sixpack, but held onto the bottle. “I’ll finish this off shortly.”

As Thace put the drinks away in a large container that blew cold air when he opened and closed it, Keith look around for the terminal again. It wasn’t in this room. It would make sense that he would have his personal computer in his bedroom for late night work. So how could he get in there without it being very, very awkward?

“The games may start late,” Thace said interrupting his thoughts again. “Word is that the Emperor attended a fight a few weeks back and they won’t start until he arrives.”

“If the broadcasts are three weeks old, then why don’t you just take the recordings and stream them at the correct times?”

Thace shrugged, “If I was willing to pay the extra costs they would send it directly to my terminal. Information and entertainment isn’t as freely distributed to the public as it was for your people. If the X-9-Y campaign had failed, then we wouldn’t receive any broadcasts at all as they would be deemed a distraction. Our forces would be trying to save face.”

“But you do receive news reports right? Of other campaigns or anything going on back home?” Keith asked only slightly interested. He needed to buy some time and fielding for more intel might yield useful results.

“Not unless its orders to send assistance or decrees from the Emperor himself.”

“Would real time news come through your terminals?” Keith asked in a sudden burst of inspiration.

“Yes,” Thace made an unconscious motion towards the open door with a flick of one ear. “Through terminals and receivers, anything that has a connection to the extranet will receive the transmission.”

“What does the Emperor look like?” Keith asked curiously. “I’ve never seen a poster of him that hasn’t been graffiti or ripped up.”

Thace seemed relieved, as if he had been nervous and this was a welcomed distraction. “Follow me.”

As Keith followed him into the next room, noticing Thace had changed into what he assumed was casual wear for Galra. Gone was his armor and boots, but he wore red and black comfortable clothes with simple shoes. He looked leaner without the bulk of the armor. If he had to fight Thace there would be plenty of vulnerable places he could target. 

The terminal was very similar to the drawing Pidge had provided earlier and sure enough there on the sides was the ports to plug the thumb drive which was still glued to the bottom of the bottle. If he only had it in his hand now, he could lean against the side of the desk and silently plug it in while keeping Thace engaged in conversation. He waited while Thace pulled up several images of the Emperor and stared at the screen.

“Holy shit,” Keith breathed in disbelief. 

He had been expecting a bear of a Galra thick with ropey muscle and a stout figure sitting on a throne swaddled in silks and velvets. Not this nightmare peering at him from a holo-screen with calm malice. What stared back at him was a draconian face with malicious violet orbs for eyes. The skin, or carapace, it was hard to tell from the picture alone, was the usual Galra purple, but with a dark undertone that reminded Keith of the shadow of a tombstone. Blood red armor covered an expansive frame and though the Emperor could only be seen from shoulders up in the image, Keith was doubtless he stood at an immense height. 

Thace stayed quiet, letting Keith take in the visage of the Emperor. It was as if someone had walked in on a relative in an embarrassing state and was letting the situation speak for itself. Once he was certain Keith had his eyeful of the Lord of the Known Universe, Thace supplemented, “He’s over 10,000 years old and is the last Emperor to walk the deserts and climbed the mountains of Daizabaal.”

From Keith’s inquisitive look, Thace explained, “Daizabaal was the homeworld of the Galra. It’s gone now, but the Empire lives on. Vrepit-Sa”

Keith took note of how Thace’s voice carried a note of the sort of resignation that was usually accompanied by an eye roll. It was hard to tell if Thace was rolling his eyes or not, but the mood was there all the same. And why would Thace, a loyal soldier, lieutenant, of the Galra, carry what could be considered a resentful mood towards it? Before Keith had a chance to consider this, Thace closed the images. 

“The fights will be starting soon,” he said rising from the desk. “I have some of your ‘chips’ in the next room in case you were hungry.”

Keith followed Thace back to the main room where a holo-vid generator was set at the base of a wall opposite the couch. Thace picked up a remote from the base, not having set up vid to recognize his voice for verbal commands, and fiddled with it. “I usually use my terminal for messages and entertainment so it’ll take a moment for me figure this out.”

“It’s no problem,” Keith said amicably. “One sec, I think I left my drink on your desk. I’ll be right back.”

Before waiting for a reply, Keith hurried back to the room knowing he would only have seconds and planned his actions. The bottle was left right next to the computer where he had oh so casually set it down while studying the Emperor’s horrid image and where it was waiting like a rendezvousing lover. Keith grabbed it and twisted off the time and tossed the coke back. Catching the thumb drive between his teeth, he spat it into his waiting palm and swallowed the soda as he twisted off the end of the wax at the porting end. After making sure the tip was dry, he plugged it into the terminal port.

He returned to the main room sipping the coke, finishing it off. “Where’s your garbage can?”

***

Pidge, who had been peering intensely at the screen ever since Keith left, let out a whoop. “We’re in!”

Sammi gave a happy cry and actually clapped her hands several times before she collected herself. Both Lance and Hunk hurried over in time to see the progress bar begin to fill bit by bit while a number counted the percentage above it. 

“How long?” Lance breathed.

“Ten minutes, give or take,” Pidge said, eyeing the screen, as if trying to will the loading bar to fill up by sheer will. 

“Alright, make sure the relay is working first and then we can focus on prisoner locations and codes for a ship,” Lance sternly reminded Pidge.

He was given a sharp glance, but the hacker’s lips stayed in a silent tight line and fingers flicked across the keys hoping to free up some processing power. Earlier, after nearly an hour of heated debate, they decided that within the two hour window they had three goals, in order of most importance. Firstly, ensure the rebel relay was set up to transmit data, find out the status and location of Shiro and the Holts, and then get the codes for a ship, in that exact order. 

“If we don’t get everything,” he assured Pidge, “and if Keith’s date doesn’t go downhill, we’ll have him make another date and get the rest of it. And there’s still the police station as a last resort, okay?”

Pidge acquiesce with a small huff and worked with the program to ensure they get everything the needed in one shot. 

***

Nothing. 

It hung before him like a hurtful insult and stung like an open wound. It was as if a prize had been snatched just moments before he curled his claws around it. It eluded him with a jeer pasted to a human face with derange blue eyes. Margery Kayla, or better yet, Dr. Margery Kayla, had left no clues behind at any of the hideouts or safe houses she had burned down in her wake. Discovering she was a surgeon thus giving him burgeoning proof of her responsibility for the murders had given him prospects of finally finding a lead, a piece of the puzzle he had overlooked, or a slip of evidence that had gone unconsidered would bring forth the revelation needed to close this case. Yet, none of it came to fruition and the charred remains of Magery’s leavings galled him into near depression and rage. 

A poor footsoldier took the brunt of Haxus’ frustration. A fist smashed across his nose, throwing his head back and tossing off his helmet which clattered across the floor triggering a high metallic patter that set Haxus’ teeth on edge. 

“Get out!” Haxus snarled, his lips peeling back from his teeth in a vicious snarl. “Get out and don’t come back unless find me something I can use to catch the bitch!”

The soldier and his fellows hastily saluted (Vrept-Sa) and hurried out. The wounded held his seeping nose and collected his helmet scampered out of the office. If Haxus had something hefty in his hands he would have slammed it into the wall, but instead he settled for slamming his fists onto the desk. Tablets rattled and papers drifted up and lay flat, like momentarily disturbed birds. 

Vix, who had been watching from a quiet corner, came forward stirring a hot drink which he set on the desk near Haxus’ hand. “Sir, you should see about visiting Thace tonight after all. It puts you back in sorts after your visits.”

A scathing polemic rose to his lips, but halted there. He considered it a moment, then nodded slowly, “Perhaps I was too hasty in cancelling my plans with him. I’ll consider contacting him soon.”

Vix never carried any qualms about Haxus’s sexuality which led him to suspect that perhaps his assistant harbored his own secretive sexuality. If he had one that is. Vix never concerned him with Haxus’ personal life unless it aided with the mission and Haxus respected him for that.

Once Vix had left the office, Haxus called Thace’s commlink and it went to a busy message requesting the caller to call again later. Thace did say that he had some work to take care of tonight. Out of bored curiosity, Haxus logged into records to see Thace’s computer and comms activity. Scrolling back in time, Haxus could see that Thace had sent reports off to Prorok earlier today and there he could see where he had contacted him earlier to cancel their plans, but just minutes before, Thace had received an early morning call from a public caller.

Curious and curiouser, Haxus traced the call and found it was made from a public phone on the street corner where humans had their scant businesses. It couldn’t have been Galra reporting in. They had their own private channels to send information so the only conclusion was that a human contacted him. Could it have been Thace’s human Leslie?

No, she didn’t live in this area. She lived in the neighborhoods outside far from where this call was made. So who called him? 

He pulled up an activity log for today. Thace had left his room early evening and then returned within minutes. On a hunch, Haxus pulled up all video feed from security cameras on the floor Thace’s quarters lay and sure enough he saw footage of him entering an elevator and, after a few seconds of fast forwarding the video, then there was Thace leaving the elevator with the dark hair human youth following him.

Haxus’ brows rose til his gold eyes grew wide. Was this the reason why Thace canceled? To have a tryst with the human youth? 

Haxus’ claw tips tapped a tattoo on the desktop as pondered this before he made a call of his own.

***

This is pleasant, Thace thought.

They sat on opposite ends of the couch with the holo-screen before them showing off the arena matches. The youth was silently drinking a coke with eyes focused on the screen. This was nearly no different from Bruisers. Yet, somehow, it could be different. There was no constant noise of other Galra gambling or drinking in the background, Bruiser wasn’t standing behind the bar shooting warning looks at Keith while wheedling Thace. It was private with just them together.

So why did it seem there was a huge wall between them. He kept to his end of the sofa and the youth stayed well on his end. They barely spoke and anytime one accidentally moves in the direction of the others’ space, there was a quick embarrassed apology before the offending body part was withdrawn to safer territory. 

It was disorienting as this was something he had desired and here it was and he was too afraid to make any inclination or motion towards igniting or beginning something more than just being two people watching a screen. But this was alright, Thace could be content with this. There was no need to hope for more and be disappointed in the end. 

When they spoke, it was short questions from Keith about the alien gladiators of whose racial background Thace gave freely of what he knew. There were times when the boy was intrigued with the fight and others he fidgeted nervously, sometimes taking many glances at his wristwatch. If Thace had been more mindful, then perhaps he would have noticed the times Keith would steal looks at the doorway which led to his bedroom.

When the door chimed, they were both startled and sat up quickly as if to take flight. Thace’s ears flicked anxiously as he rose with a quick apology to Keith, telling him it would only be a moment to see to the door.  
Who was this? He had all calls fielded so the most urgent ones would go through to his wristcomm right away. No foot soldier would dare come to this level and no officer would come to his personal quarters without first announcing his impending visit. Then he had a sinking feeling that he knew who it was and if he thought the visitor would leave if he ignored the knocking, then he would have returned to the safe perch beside Keith.

Instead, he opened the door seeing whom he was expecting, but shocked to see who was standing next to him with head slightly bowed, cheeks pink, and hands demurely folded before her.

Haxus unceremoniously nudged Leslie inside before him, brushing past Thace announcing, “I thought my own human as admission. Where’s the drinks?”


	32. Thace's Quarters: Phase 3

Thace caught Haxus by the shoulder before he could brush past him. “What the fuck are you doing?” he hissed in Imperial, his ears swept back to his hair. 

Haxus’ eyes glinted as he shot a look at the two humans inside. “Careful, we don’t want to disturb our human guests.”

Keith was sitting upright, alert, as if he could start attacking at the slightest provocation. Leslie looked quite frighten, slowly backing away as she would from two snarling dogs about launch into a fight. Thace eased his grip on Haxus, but held firm, “Speak with me outside.”

“Ah, no, I think I rather join our guests,” Haxus said shrugging off his hand and drawing Leslie with him to the couch. 

Seeing Haxus touching Leslie rankled him. He may not have any romantic nor sexual desires for her, but taking her as his mistress put her under his protection, and he would hold himself responsible if Haxus or any other Galra harmed her. Getting her alone to talk with her would put Keith alone with Haxus and there was no telling what could occur if he wasn’t there. He motioned for Keith to come with him outside. The youth glanced, not nervously, but cautiously at Haxus who, after depositing Leslie on the couch, passed him without a glance to the cooler for more drinks. 

Keith followed him outside the door. Thace slanted his ears in apology, “I’m sorry, I had no idea that they would come here. If you want to leave . . .”

“No, I’ll stay,” Keith said quickly. “More the merrier, right?”

Surprised, Thace said nothing and opened the door for Keith to go back inside. He may not have had a chance to know Keith well yet, but he had the feeling that this was quite out of character for the youth to be in a social setting voluntarily. A suspicion ticked at the base of his spine, but he quelled it for he needed to focus on preventing Haxus from harming the humans or vice versa. 

How the hell did he think tonight was going so well?

***

Keith recognized Leslie from the bar as the quiet waitress with kids who had become Thace’s mistress. Did Thace swing both ways? Was he hoping Keith would become like Leslie and sleep with him for money? 

He didn’t know whether he felt better for having more people around so he wasn’t alone with Thace or he was now stuck in a social group for he found very uncomfortable. Regardless, he needed to stay until the fights were over, maybe longer to give the others plenty of time to get the data. And if that meant rubbing shoulders with strangers, then so be it.

Leslie gave him a friendly smile as he resumed his seat on the couch. She was occupying the far end with her purse still on her lap as if she might leave at any second. It seemed she wasn’t anymore comfortable to be here than himself. She sat with her back straight and maintained a smile as if she was glad to be here, but her eyes darted to and fro as if looking for a way out.

The Galra called Haxus came back with several bottles locked in his long fingers regarded them with a smirk, “They look like two bookends, wouldn’t you agree, Thace?”

Thace shot Haxus a furious glare, but said nothing.

At first, Keith believed Haxus was making a racial joke that all humans look alike, but then he glanced at Leslie took in her how her dark hair was just a few inches longer than his, their skin share the same pigmentation, and if they were both standing, they would stand almost the same height. Keith couldn’t determine if it was just coincidence they were a type Thace was attracted, or because she happened to . . .no, the thought didn’t bear considering.

Keith sipped his coke and resumed watching the fight, conflicted between hoping the fight would last long for the datamining to complete and hoping it would end quickly so he can get out of here. 

***

Pidge’s fingers were a blur across the keyboard. Data splashed up across the screen as names, dates, and locations appeared in Galra and was translated onto the smartphone connected via a USB cord. Lance leaned over the thin her thin shoulders to peer at the screen and had to struggle for a good view between Hunk and Sammi. “What do we have?”

“The relay is working as it should,” Pidge said without taking eyes off the screen. “So far, my father was sent to a mining came on a planet called Pelar shortly after the Kerberos crew was captured. Matt was last seen in a penal station, but they won’t say whether he died or escape. It’s just listed as unknown.”

“What about Shiro and whatsherface?” Lance said, his tightening on the edge of the table. Keith would want to know and was putting himself in danger to get that information.

“Heart of the Empire; in the arena,” Pidge said checking the smartphone screen. “I got the coordinates, but as indicated by the name, it’s the very center of Galra territory. Same as Bridget Walsh, but she’s in something called Zenana. I can’t tell if its a prison or a slave camp. The translator doesn’t recognize the characters.”

“Just download what you can.” Lance said checking the time. So far, it has been almost an hour since the relay started. “The rebels have people working on translating Galra. We can pass it along to them.”

“Got it,” Pidge said, finger tips darting to several keys. “I’m going to take a crack at the flight system codes next.”

“Alright, but be careful,” Hunk warned. “Those will have security around them.”

“It’s fine. I’ll just use the officer’s codes and then erase the history,” Pidge said gleefully. The keyboard nearly rattled from the urgent tapping and then stopped altogether as the system cut to a purple screen with an icon they didn’t recognized. Pidge held both hands up as if being held at gunpoint. “Oh crap.”

“What? What’s going on?” Lance hissed startled. 

“I think . . .I think someone is calling him on his terminal.”

***

Keith wound up sitting between Leslie and Thace. Perhaps it was Thace’s way of keeping the humans away from Haxus as it didn’t seem the he trusted the other Galra around them. How did they know each other anyway? Were they friends? Colleagues? 

Haxus came through the door as casually as if he were entering his own quarters and seemed to know his way around the room. Yet, Thace didn’t seem happy one bit to see Haxus and Keith couldn’t really blame him. Being around the Galra set him on edge and the way he smirked at him and Leslie was unnerving. 

And Leslie was very nervous as if she would have given anything to leave. She fidgeted with her purse and answered all inquiries politely with a soft voice. And she kept giving Thace and Keith odd looks when she thought they weren’t looking. Keith had the feeling a lot more was going on than realize and he can only hope that it wouldn’t inhibit him from completing the mission. So far, everyone had stayed away from the bedroom and focus their attentions on the match, however, the only one that seemed to be enjoying himself was Haxus who munched on chips and was on his second or third drink. He leaned against Thace and murmured to him in Imperial in low insidious tones, sometimes glancing at Keith and Leslie. 

Thace wasn’t much fun either. He kept glaring at Haxus with a slight fold in his ears as if he was stopping himself in mid-hiss. He shot furtive glances at him and Leslie and interposed himself between them and Haxus whenever the other Galra rose. And he looked very vexed whenever Haxus touched him, brushed him with a hand, or leaned against him to whisper in his ear as he was now. 

“So now that I think about it,” Haxus said low in Imperial with a keen eye towards the humans, his lips barely an inch from Thace’s ear. “The lad is the only one in this room whose ass you haven’t shoved your cock into.”

“Shut up,” Thace growled. 

“Did I interrupt your initiating him into the club?” Haxus said in a sad mocking voice. “What do the humans call it? Am I ‘cock blocking’ you?”

Thace turned his head to fix him with a steely gaze. “Is this compartmentalizing your personal and professional life? I’m beginning to suspect that jealousy is motivating your actions.”

Haxus snorted and drew a claw tip across Thace’s arm. It sent a small shiver that rippled his fur and sent small electrical sensations up towards his shoulder. “Maybe I’ve become curious enough to learn what you see in humans.”

Thace’s jaw tighten, his crest almost bristling. “You’re not touching Leslie nor him. Is that understood?”

The intelligence officer sigh, taking his hand away. “Fear not. I’m not interested in touching either of your pets, though I won’t refuse watching.”

Before Thace could retort, a chime rang from his bedroom. Someone was calling him long distance. Of all times to get such a call now. Thace rose cursing under his breath. “I have to get that.”

“What!?” Keith said with widening eyes. 

“It’s a call for me in the next room.”

Leaning forward, as if to block Thace, the youth said, “They can call back.”

“It’s long distance and real time,” he replied giving Haxus a severe look before sidling past Keith and Leslie. “Don’t worry. It won’t take long.” He wanted to add that he wouldn’t leave them alone with Haxus for long, but thought it better to stay silent. Haxus might take it up as a challenge.

Slipping into his bedroom, with the image of Keith’s dismal eyes following him, he sat at the terminal and accepted the call.

***

“Pidge, hang up!” Lance demanded.

“No!” Sammi cried. “He’ll try to call them back.”

“Don’t!” Hunk yelped. “He’ll notice the call being cut off.”

 

Pidge frantically tapped keys. “It won’t let me. When Galra receive calls, it freezes out all commands to get the user’s attention.”

The chiming stopped and then a heavily pixelated screen revealed a purple face with white streaks. It was so mottle with blurred pixels that they couldn’t make out any distinct facial features. Yet, they all recognized the purple skin marking the caller as a Galra. The face began speaking in Imperial and they could only hear his side of the conversation. All of them stood or sat frozen in mid motion, too afraid to move or alert the Galra to their presence. Slowly, Pidge moved a finger to a key and pressed it. In the upper right hand corner, a red recording dot appeared in the lower left corner.

“What are you doing?” Lance whispered.

“Recording this,” Pidge whispered back. “More intel, right? It must be important for him to make such an expensive real time call to an officer.”

“But won’t he see that it’s being recorded?”

“We’re recorded it from our end,” Hunk said easing his arms down from where he had them raised as if warding off a blow.

“And why is it so pixelated,” Sammi asked slowly moving forward for a better look.

“He’s likely using a holo-vid projection. The graphics card on this computer isn’t up to snuff to handle that so we get a badly degraded version.”

“So they can hear us at all?” Lance gave the screen and the face a cautious look as if it could leap at him.

“Nope, they shouldn’t,” Hunk said nearly giddy with relief. In a playful gesture, if only to reassure himself more, he called, “Hello! Can anyone hear me? See, nothing . . .”

“Hello?”

Again, they all froze in sudden terror. Hunk made a soft squee noise as he slowly looked at the monitor. “Did it just speak to me?”

“Ulaz? Can we talk about Shiro?” The voice spoke fluent English with a slight brogue. It was a human woman’s voice or sounded pretty damn close to it. 

The Galra on the screen had stopped talking and turned his head to address the speaker off screen. In accented English, he replied, “I’ll be there in a moment, Bridget.”

After a few more words in Imperial, the call disconnected. The screen returned to the neutral desktop with the Galra Empire emblem and did nothing else. They were all stunned into motionless silence until Lance pretty much summed of their thinking with three words.

“What the fuck . . .?” 

***

Keith forced himself not to stare at the door and draw the attention of the nervous woman and the now lackluster Galra in the room. The fights had deluge into one on one combatants with the announcer declaring their every action. He only gave attention to each fight to see if one of the fighters was Shiro. Again and again, Shiro made no appearance. 

“I hope it doesn’t storm too bad next week,” Leslie said, tentatively at conversation with the tried and true topic about the weather. 

Most television networks and radio stations were shut down during and after the invasion save for some local new channels that reported only what the Galra permitted. Local weather was announced in the evenings for the following day and recently the daily reports stated that a storm was brewing for sometime next week.

Keith raised a shoulder. “Storms have never bothered me.” Over Leslie’s head he watched slanted Haxus’ ears twitch to an unhappy tilt which may be the equivalent of an eye roll. He didn’t want to be unpleasant towards Leslie, knowing that the woman was probably more anxious about being here than he and it wasn’t her fault she was brought here to be used as a prop to irritate Thace for some reason. 

However, his mind was on whatever was happening in Thace’s room. Would the thumb drive go unnoticed? Would Thace burst from the room demanding Haxus arrest Keith and take him to an interrogation room? Keith had the feeling the second time around in an interrogation room won’t end in a friendly card game.

“My girls are afraid of thunder,” Leslie shared with a slight smile, the first one she had since she arrived. “They won’t go to sleep unless they are in bed with me or my mother. It’s been tough on them since I’ve been having to work nights.”

“Oh, yeah?” Keith reflexively glancing at the door wondering what was taking so long, even though it had only been a few minutes. 

Haxus made a discontented noise as he too glance at the door wondering who had called Thace real time like this.

Leslie kept going with her line of thought, not really having anything else to do to fill the silence. “I hate tornadoes. I can handle rain and thunder and wind, but I want to be underground when a tornado comes. I wish Margery Kayla hadn’t taken over the Lion’s Den church. They had a large storm shelter beneath the church.”

Sudden movement blurred from the corner of Keith’s eye and he saw Haxus wrenching Leslie’s arm hard enough to nearly dislocate it. The human woman cried out in fear and pain as she was wrench off the couch and brought within inches of Haxus’ blazing eyes. 

“A storm shelter? Underground? Where?” Haxus growled, his claws cutting skin.

“Let her go!” Keith surged forward.

Haxus batted him away with a backhand swing that caught him across the face, stunning him. He fell against the coffee table upsetting the drinks which spilled their contents across the surface and puddled on the floor.

Haxus shook Leslie until she yelped, “Under the church!”

“There’s nothing under the church!” Haxus snarled. “The scanners picked up nothing!”

“Let her go,” Keith yelled again, but this time, he pressed a knife to the Galra’s neck. 

A rippled swept through Haxus as fur bristle and his crest rose higher than his ears. “You might as well slit your own throat right now, primitive. Threatening an Imperial officer is a death sentence and you won’t die easy, I promise you.”

“And what happens when an officer comes into another officer’s quarters and threatens his guests?”

Both Haxus and Keith looked up at Thace who was pointing a gun at Haxus’ head. A long silence filled the room, disturbed only by Leslie’s soft sobs and the drips of drinks still dribbling off the table. Haxus slowly let go of Leslie who scuttled backwards to get behind Thace. Keith, with a nod from Thace, withdrew the knife and slipped it into a concealed leg holster beneath his pants leg. Then Thace lowered his gun and kept it in full view. 

“Haxus, come with me outside. Keith, look after Leslie.”

Both the Galra left the room together, with Haxus leading the way with Thace close enough behind him to be just short of pushing him through the door. Leslie started crying, bleeding from several punctured marks on her upper arm. Other than the bleeding and being frightened, she was nonetheless worse for wear, but damage was done all the same. 

Keith rushed to Thace’s room, “I’ll see if I can get something for the bleeding.”

The first thing he did was check the thumb drive was still in place and it was where he had plugged it in earlier, untouched. He backed up murmuring he went into the wrong room and then hurried into the bathroom which looked very much like a human bathroom. There was a clean cloth hanging over a rack which he soaked in water and wrung out. When he returned Leslie was sitting on the couch with face in her hands trembling. 

“Oh God, I didn’t want to come here tonight. My daughter is still sick and wanted me to stay with her, but he told me I had to come. Said he pay me extra to come here.”

Keith gingerly wiped the blood away. “It’s alright, I think tonight is almost over anyway.”

“It’s not just tonight,” she moaned turning a mascara streaked face to his. “It’s every night that I have to fucking sleep with them just to keep my girls fed. That I have to please them so we don’t end up in street. Jesus, I thought - I thought I was being brought here for a threesome or some sick sex games tonight.”

“It’s alright,” Keith said again, unsure of how to deal with this.

“My poor mother has to do the grocery shopping because I can’t bear for people to look at me. They stare at me as if I’m some perverted freak. One woman even called me a zoophile to my face in front of my girls. Thank God, they didn’t understand what she meant.” Leslie reached for her purse where it had fallen and Keith obligingly handed it to her. 

Leslie opened it and took out several tissues and blew her nose. “I was a civil rights lawyer! My daughters went to private school, my mother lived happily in a senior community, and we had a nice house. If I had known I was going to lose it all because my law degree becomes worthless when the aliens landed, I would have gone into sewing or became a mechanic. Do they think I wanted to become a whore?”

Keith pressed the cloth around her arm to stop the bleeding and wondered if Thace had any bandages in his room. He let Leslie talk at him while he listened outside. A paranoid thought came that Thace might he telling Haxus about the thumb drive and that it had been left in place to draw him into a trap. He shoved the thought aside. If Thace had noticed it, then he would have removed it to keep the rebels from getting more information. He contemplated hurrying into the room and retrieving it when Leslie spoke directly to him.

“What’s going on between you and Thace?”

Keith blinked, startled, “Sorry?”

“Are you and he . . .were you two about to . . .” Leslie said slowly, but with meaning.

“No!” Keith blurted, shaking his head, his face becoming hot. “We were just watching the fights together. I got into some trouble so I have to away from the bar for a while. Thace is letting me watch the fights here until it cools down.” It didn’t seem harmful to tell her the truth as chances were that Thace might have already told her the story and she was testing to see if he told her a different version.

“Oh,” Leslie said dabbing at her eyes. She seemed calmer after having a cry and she pulled out a compact and surveyed the damage to her makeup. Without looking at him, she said quietly, “Please, don’t take him away from me.”

Again, Keith was startled, blinking rapidly as he tried to think of something to say. All he could come up with was, “I’m not interested in Thace.”

“But he’s interested in you,” Leslie said putting away a dark marked tissue into her purse. “Don’t misunderstand. I’m not in love with him, but the money he gives me has helped my family so much. When my daughter became sick I could afford the medicine and Bruiser lets me have time off to be with her because Thace asked him to. If I lose Thace, Bruiser will think I did something to piss him off and I’ll lose my job. My family can’t survive if I don’t work. . .”

 

“Hey, hey, it’s not like that,” Keith said in what he hoped was a very reassuring voice. “I’m not trying to hook up with him. I promise.”

Leslie drew a slow breath, slightly mollified, but still tearful. She took a black eyeliner stick from the compact and began reapplying makeup. Noticing Keith staring, she said, “I have to look good. It’s part of my job.”

***

“Pidge, what the hell are you doing?” 

“Tracing the call.” Pidge’s fingertips flew across the keyboard, the screen nearly bobbing from the urgency.

“Why?” Hunk squeaked. 

“So I can call Bridget back. If she knows about Shiro, she might know about my family!”

“No!” Lance said smacking an open hand on the table. “It’s too risky. You don’t know if she’ll be the one that answers.”

“That’s a risk I’ll have to take,” Pidge said. “The system is trying to erase the call from the log, but I managed to grab it before then. All I have to do is just dial it back . . .”

“Pidge!” Lance catching Pidge’s shoulder and turning the hacker around to face him. “We don’t know what’s going on the other end. And what if Thace is in the same room when you make the call? He’s going to wonder why the hell his terminal is making random calls and you’ll put Keith in danger.”

“Aren’t you worried about Shiro? They’re talking about whatever happened to him right now.”

“And what if they trace the call to us?” Hunk said siding with Lance.

“If it’s a really short call, then they won’t have time to trace it,” Sammi threw her two cents in. 

“It’s not worth it!” Lance seethed, trying to get a handle on the situation.

“I’m making the call, Lance,” Pidge growled with a hand hovering over the keyboard. “Get on board or get out of the way.”

“I’m the leader of this mission,” Lance howled towering over Pidge as is he was going to throttle her.

But Sammi interposed herself between them. “You better stop yelling at Pidge. If her mom hears you hollering, she’ll come over to find out what we’re doing.”

Hunk tried to ease the situation. “Why don’t we take a five minute breather to think this over? We’re not in any rush, are we? Waitaminute? Her? Pidge is a girl?”

“Sorry, Pidge,” Sammi said dejectedly.

“Yeah, Hunk, Pidge’s a girl and she is not making the call!” Lance locked eyes with Pidge, refusing to budge on his stance. 

“Yes, she is!” Pidge growled, refusing to let the revelation of her sex affect her own stance on the matter, and her hand went towards the enter key.

Before Lance could shout or stop her, the door flung open and Colleen Holt stood in the doorway with all her maternal wrath emanating from her visage demanded in a clear, I better be getting answers the second this question leaves my mouth or there will be trouble voice, “What is she going or not going to do exactly? What game are you kids playing?”

The four of them blinked in unison, stunned into silence and panic driving their thinking gauges. Lance considered a multitudes of pick up lines he had been working to court older women that might distract Mrs. Holt. Hunk was wondering if he had made any treats to offer her and panicked when he realized he hadn’t made any. Pidge, meanwhile, was coming up with a selection of lies and half-truths to feed her mother.

It was Sammi who spoke first.

“We’re playing a dating simulation game, Mrs. Holt.”

Then all eyes were on her. The girl calmly straighten her shoulders and spoke with clear confidence, “We at the level where a guy named Kei - I mean Kenneth is at this guy’s, Theodore’s, apartment to watch tv and he wants to make to invite his girlfriend, Lindsey, over. We’re trying to decide whether she wants to come over or not because we’ll lose heart points if she doesn’t like the offer, but we’ll get some if she does.”

If Sammi could have been nominated for an Oscar winning performance, Pidge would have for that performance. She had spoke clearly with a bit of a whine showing she was annoyed with having to explain something that was so matter of fact for youth to an adult.

“Yeah,” Pidge said carefully. “Amanda doesn’t like Theodore, but her heart points for Kenneth is high enough so it shouldn’t matter if he calls her. She’ll appreciate the thought.”

Catching on, Lance said, “She hates Theodore. He cheated on her best friend. You can’t beat the BFF code.”

“I think she’ll be neutral about it, but glad that Kenneth thought about her,” Hunk said.

Colleen’s suspicious knitted eyes giving way to confusion and elder’s resentment for what adults viewed as asinine that the kids just seemed to be obsessed with. She finally raised her hands from the armed position on her hips to cross beneath her breasts. “Pidge, may I speak with you in private?”

“Aw, Mom, we weren’t doing anything gross,” Pidge moaned. “Can’t we talk later?”

“No, I think we shall speak right now.” Colleen’s voice took on a firm edge that stated her daughter better do as she is told right now or there will be trouble. 

Groaning, Pidge rose and spoke directly to Sammi. “Don’t let him do anything while I’m gone.”

Sammi nodded, shooting Lance and Hunk hard looks. “Don’t worry. I’ll watch the computer.” She promptly took the seat vacated by Pidge and regarded the guys in the suspicious glare that looked more at home in the face of a junkyard dog. 

Pidge hurried outside, hoping that whatever her mother had to say would be quick. 

***

The moment the door closed behind him, Haxus found himself shoved against a wall and Thace’s teeth inches from his nose. His crest was blooming, rising several inches in a strip of bristle. A low growl rippled from the officer’s throw as he demanded in guttural voice, “It would be within my right to rip your throat out right now.”

“You don’t want to do that,” Haxus rasped back. His ears were tilted to the sides, but not quite betraying any fear. “I can charge you with interfering with my investigation if you don’t back away from me right now.”

Thace stayed as he was, temptation to taste Haxus’ blood pricking his tongue, but he stepped back, easing back his claws. “If you report Keith . . .”

Haxus snorted, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “I wouldn’t waste my time. The little worm is going to get himself killed if you don’t watch him. Or he might kill you instead. You didn’t check him for a knife before you lured him here?”

Not to be deterred, Thace said, “Why did you have Leslie brought here? She isn’t yours to summon.”

“I figured since you have your new toy that she would be available now,” Haxus stepped from the wall, straightening his clothes. 

“You’re not interested in her,” Thace said coldly. “You brought her here to vex me out of some form of jealousy?”

“I’m above such weaknesses.”

“But not above threatening someone weaker than yourself.” 

Haxus snorted and turned away, “I’m leaving now. I’ll leave your pets alone, I promise. Call me when you get bored of them.”

Thace watched him leave, a growl just at the edge of his throat. He kept his eyes on the other Galra until he disappeared around the corner and his footsteps became inaudible. He didn’t noticed the door opening and closing behind him until Keith spoke.

“Is he gone?”

“Yes, he won’t be coming back,” Thace said feeling fatigued and regretful of the night’s events. “How is she?”

“The bleeding has stopped and she’s calmed down,” Keith said with a quick glance to the door behind him. 

“Will you tell her that I’m arranging a car to take her home and how sorry I am that she was assaulted in my private quarters?”

“I’ll tell her about the ride, but I think it’ll mean more if you apologize to her yourself,” Keith said with a shrug. “She’s afraid you’re gonna dump her.”

 

Thace closed his eyes and wished he could just fade out of existence. This was not at all how he wanted the night to go. He didn’t have any high hopes, but he surely never thought it would end like this. “I’ll speak with her before she leaves. I’m also arranging a ride for you also.”

Eyebrows raising, Keith shook his head, “You don’t have to. I can walk home once the fights are over . . .”

“No, it’s after curfew,” Thace said kindly, but firm. “I’ve lost my taste for blood tonight and I’ll feel better knowing both you and Leslie are on your way homes safe.”

“Alright . . .I’ll go let her know to get ready then,” Keith said slowly retreating to the door. He paused for a moment, “You’re not in trouble, are you?”

“No, I’ll be fine,” Thace said taking some pleasure in Keith’s concern for him. “Scuffles between officers happens more than you can imagine. Unless it interferes with our duty to the Empire, we’re expected to settle it ourselves. I am sorry about how tonight turned out. I . . . I didn’t wish for you to see that ugly side of Galra.”

“It’s alright,” Keith said stepping to the door. Uncharacteristically, a small smile was on his face, his violet eyes softening. “It was fun until . . . well, I had fun tonight.”

Thace felt a smile touch his lips. “I had fun too.” 

It was a warmth he wasn’t expecting. Keith continued to surprise and entrance him each time he saw him. A bubble of attraction rosed through his stomach and expanded through his chest. If Leslie wasn’t here, then maybe . . .no, he didn’t dare entertain that thought. 

Keith raised a hand to the door panel.

“Wait, I’ll have to unlock the . . .” Thace started.

The door hummed open without a beep of an error message or denial of entry. Keith paused in the open door. “Yes?”

Thace faltered before he found his words, “Uh, nothing, I thought I locked the door is all. Tell Leslie it’ll be a few minutes.”

***

“I don’t know how I feel about you playing those sort of games with boys. Don’t they have graphic sex scenes?”

Pidge kept her eyes on Colleen, trying not to betray how badly she needed to get back in the room. It was killing her that she was so close, just an intergalactic phone call away from finding out about Matt and Dad and her mother of all people may be blowing her chances by some mistaken maternal concern.

“Only the adult ones. This one doesn’t,” Pidge assured her mother. “C’mon, I wouldn’t play games like that with boys.”

Colleen cocked an eyebrow. “But you would alone?”

A blushed flooded Pidge’s cheeks and she rubbed the back of her head, “No way! C’mon, Mom, I promise nothing weird is happening in there. Can I go now?”

 

“First, I need to tell you something,” Colleen said taking her daughter by the shoulder and leading her further down the hall and away from the apartment and the computer. Pidge clenched her teeth to keep from complaining as that would launch Colleen into a lecture on respect and patience and she might heap punishment on top of it by sending her to her room. Once they were down the hall, Colleen spoke in a low voice, “We’re going to be staying here longer than I expected.”

Pidge kept her face blank, keeping the relief from her face. “Really? Why?”

Colleen’s lips became a tight line. “The Galra have tighten the borders and there’s a strict travel ban. They aren’t issuing any travel passes and sentries patrolling the walls are arresting anyone who stray too close.”

Pidge shifted uncomfortably and heard the words her mother wouldn’t speak. The tighten security was the result of her hacking in the factory. “So what do we do?”

“You’re going to stay in this building and stay out of sight. If any errands need to be run while I’m away, then Sammi can do them as long as her condition allows her.” Colleen said firmly, fixing her eyes on Pidge’s. “The disguise is clever, but I’m taking no chances on a Galra recognizing you.”

“What about money? What we have won’t last long.” Pidge had a terrible image in her head of them starving in the apartment and having to rely on Keith, Lance, and Hunk to feed them and chances were they wouldn’t be a reliable source of food.

“I’ve been given a part time job cleaning stores after hours. It won’t pay much, but it’ll keep us fed and sheltered.”

Pidge’s throat constricted as she imagined her mother, a woman who had graduated with honors from a university and married a genius scientist now working as a janitor. A small wave of hatred towards the Galra rolled through her, but she swallowed it back, replacing it with determination to find her family. 

“I want you to promise me that you’ll do as I say and be careful,” Colleen entreated with hands on Pidge’s shoulders. “This might actually be for the best for Sammi. This is will give her a chance to work things out with her mother while she stays with us. Maybe once things settle or after she has the baby, she and her mother could reconcile.”

As much as Colleen disliked Sammi’s mother, Pidge understood that Sammi was just one more burden they didn’t need, especially with a half-Galra child on the way. Pidge wondered if there were any half alien babies out there. Likely there were as Galra have frequented Bruiser’s upstairs rooms and there were many places elsewhere that provided such services. 

“I promise, Mom,” Pidge said glancing towards the door. “May I go now?”

“Alright,” Colleen brushed her daughters hair from her face, likely regretful of the shearing of her daughter’s hair. “Just don’t stay too late and come back to the apartment if it becomes too ‘weird’ in there.” She kissed Pidge’s forehead before leaving.

Pidge made herself move casually to the door so as not to peak any suspicions from Colleen and then hurried through it. Sammi was still guarding the laptop like a yard dog while Hunk fretted and Lance tried to flirt his way past her. 

“Did it hurt when you fell from Heaven?” He breathed at Sammi.

“No, it’s gonna hurt when I kick your ass to Hell,” Sammi retorted. She brighten when she saw Pidge. “Hey, I didn’t let them touch and the laptop didn’t do anything else since you left.”

“Good, move over so I can make the call.”

“Pidge . . .” Lance warned.

“Save it,” Pidge snapped sitting down before Sammi had time to scoot out of the way. Her fingers flitted over the keyboard, bringing up the communication signal up through the terminal. Without another word or look at anyone else, she punched the call through.

And waited.

The laptop chimed softly instead of the telephone ring as it waited to be travel through countless light years to reach its destination. It pulsed when the call connected and an image bloomed across the screen. It was heavily pixelated, but it looked like to be a purplish room with bright hues. A figure was moving across the screen, too distant to make out if it was a person or not. 

“Bridget? Bridget Walsh?” Pidge called through the mic she had plugged in earlier. 

The figure stopped moving.

Hunk moaned fearfully, “That’s a Galra, I just know it.”

“Shh,” Sammi said leaning in close behind Pidge’s head. 

The figure was moving again, but closer. The top was grouping of red pixels and the rest was a white spread of roaming boxes. 

“Y-yes?” 

It was the same voice as before, but cautious now.

“Bridget! We’re calling from Earth!” Pidge cried through the mic.

There was a small pause and then the figure drew closer. “That’s impossible.” Then suspiciously, “How do I know you’re really from Earth?”

“We can prove it,” Pidge said bracing her hands on the desk. “Ask us something only a person from Earth would know. Ask us anything.”

“Alright, what’s the first and last line of Hamlet’s soliloquy?”

There was long stunned silence. Pidge, a computer coder and hacker extraordinaire hadn’t cracked open a literature book since the schools shut down after the Galra Invasion stared at the computer as if it just sprouted wings. Lance, who only used Shakespeare as a tool for flirting with literary adept girls was at a lost. And Hunk, who went into engineering instead of the literary arts rubbed the back of his head in complete loss and wondering who Hamlet was. 

Then Sammi began speaking, “To be or not to be, that is the question. Whether tis’ nobler of the mind to suffer . . .” All heads turned to her as she continued with her eyes closed as if reading from a pamphlet only she could see. She paused for a moment and then continued, “The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.”

The words drummed on and on and none of them spoke or move unless Sammi forget the next line. When she finally finished with, “Be all my sins remembered.” Noticing the stares, she said with a shrug, “I was failing English literature and my teacher said he would bump me up a letter grade if I memorized Hamlet’s speech.” 

The face on the screen bobbed slightly, “Alright, I . . . believe you now . . .How old are you?”

Pidge ignored the question and asked, “Do you know Matt Holt and Samual Holt? Do you know what happened to them?”

“Ask about Shiro too,” Lance hissed at her.

They could not make out a face through the pixels. Pale, crowned with red, with a blurry blobs of green for eyes. “Samual Holt was taken to a labor camp. Matt was sent somewhere else. I don’t know anymore than that, I’m afraid.”

Pidge closed her eyes and clench her fists. The one person who ought to know didn’t know anymore than she did. Actually, knew less than she about what happened to her family. A step forward and several painful steps back. 

Lance leaned forward, taking control of the call, “Can you tell us about Shiro? Do you know him?”

“Shiro?” Bridget said, her voice stricken. “Yes, he’s. . .” 

The connection was cut, the screen switching to black with a small message dictating that the relay had been disconnected. Lance muttered a foul curse, knowing they had lost their chance at finding out what had happened to Shiro. Pidge checked the computer logs and confirmed that the relay had been removed. A bit earlier than they were expecting, but nothing to be alarmed about though Sammi stood by the window to keep watch. 

Lance huffed as he threw himself onto the couch, arms crossed and a scowl etched on his face. Keith was going to kill him and maybe Pidge too, for not finding out about Shiro first. Their one shot to find out whether he survived or not and it was wasted on info they already had. Hell, Iverson might want to nail his ass to the wall for not getting Galra intel from someone who had been living behind enemy lines. A fountain of information lost because Keith couldn’t wait one goddamn minute.

No, that wasn’t fair. Keith had no way of knowing. If he had known, he would have fought to keep the connection going, if not for the rebels, but for Shiro’s sake especially. Maybe they could get another shot. Pidge recorded the communications channels so if they could get their hands on another Galra terminal and jury rig it for them to use they could call Bridget back and ask her if Shiro still lived.

Yet, if Keith comes back without a trail of Galra sentries chasing after him, then it was mission accomplished. Lance didn’t look forward to telling him they were so close to finding out about Shiro only to have it ripped away from them a few seconds too soon.


	33. Jodi

I imagined being on auction meant standing on a stage while an auctioneer called numbers and Galra below raised numbered cards to bid. It wasn’t like that, it was more like hi-tech Ebay. I was taken into a small room where a series of booths stood. Slaves were positioned in the booths, some humans and the rest aliens. I was led to one booth and ordered inside by the sentry who removed the shackles from my wrists and ordered me to stand still.

The booth had a series of cameras that roam around me sending video real time at a predetermined time while information scrolled across detailing my skills and training. The auction was held online at different times. Days ago, images of me was posted with detailed information about my skills and upkeep along with other slaves to give buyers time to decide if they wanted to participate in the bidding. 

I wasn’t able to see the bidders or how much once the auction started. A soft feminine voice told me to smile and I kept smiling for nearly fifteen minutes until the booth powered down. A sentry collected me and with a stylus penned a barcode on the shiny stripe stitched at the shoulder of my shirt. 

Had I been bought? It didn’t happen often, but sometimes, a slave who received no bids was sent to a labor camp to recoup any losses. Was this barcode meant I was being sent off to a mining planet? 

The other slaves taken from booths had the same barcodes and we were all being taken in the same direction of our cells. Surely, this many of us couldn’t be sent to die in a labor camp. I spent an hour in the cell before I was collected again, but this time I was being shipped off to be delivered to my new owner. I was briefed on my new position on the ship after take off. My new role was a domestic slave for a family of four, soon to be five, once the wife gives birth. 

 

The planet of my new home had once belonged to an alien race that was scattered across the universe once the Galra invaded. The Empire colonized and then turned the planet into an industrial hub of the sector. Once side of the planet held the massive factories and mining camps and shipyards that keep the military functioning in this part of space, while the warmer hemisphere held a framework of suburban neighborhoods surrounding a large commercial city.

The shipped arrived at the docking yard in the city and a sentry led me through the maze of ships and cargo holdings. It looked chaotic with cargo and people coming and going at high speeds; the sentry was nearly scrapped by an oncoming floating cart. However, there was a frantic order dictating where cargo could be loaded and unloaded and soldiers directing coming and going like street cops in heavy traffic. We were halted a few times to make way for floating crates until we arrived at the depot. I was directed into a room where other slaves were waiting to be collected. 

It was a narrow room with only a bench for us to sit side by side. Our shackles were placed on a magnetic bar in front of each seat to keep us from moving or fleeing, though no one seemed concerned about it. Most seemed calmed, a few nervous, and one very chatty. She kept bragging about how much she was worth.

“50,000!” She declared over and over. “I’m a Lady’s Maid for a Commander’s wife, I am!” 

She had an oval head with hanging ears with dark markings around her eyes. Large goat like eyes glowed bright and happy. It was hard to read her expression, but I could tell she was beaming at the other slaves like she won the damn lottery. Well, thinking about the circumstances, she might as well have. 

“Shut up,” a woman next to her hissed. Her head was sloped back into a head of folded tendrils. “You keep jawing like that the sentry will come back and break it. Let’s see if you’re worth 50,000 with a flopping mouth.”

The girl stuck out her tongue. It was blue. “You’re just jealous, 3,000. You’ll be mucking out the bathrooms of a restaurant.”

“To the Hells with you,” the woman snorted. “The second you spill a drop of wine on your Lady’s precious dress you’ll be in the mining camp on the other side of this planet before the sun takes its sleep. You’re better off as a domestic slave. Mess up, you just get a beating and told not to do it again.”

I couldn’t contain my curiosity. I wanted to know how much I had sold for. It really didn’t matter because my future was assured, but I needed to know my value. “How did you find out how much you went for?”

This earned my several surprised looks and I instantly regretted speaking. Better to be thought a fool than speak and removed all doubt. 

“It’s on your shoulder. You can’t read Gunic?” Someone down the line asked.

“Look at her. Her species is new. She hasn’t had a chance to learned.”

Well, it turns out that the barcode on my shoulder is Gunic, Galra Universal Numbers and Metrics. The barcode contained the allotment number and beneath it my value to let handlers know to how much care to treat me before handing me over. Embarrassingly, I had been taught to read Gunic, but did not recognized the them from upside down and tiny script they were etched in. 

20,000 gac from a starting bid of 1,000. I ran the numbers through my head. With each bid being 250 gac minimum, then I was bidded on around 76 times, that is if no one put in a larger bid to boost the price. 20,000 gac mean I had real value and it was both a protection and quiet source of pride. 

After a while, the shackles were released from the bar and I rose when my number was called, following the clerk from the waiting room. I kept my eyes lowered; slaves who made willful eye contact with their masters were considered impudent. A Galra was standing at a counter where a clerk was typing away at a panel. 

I felt eyes on me as I was directed to stand still while I was scanned by a medical device. It proved to my new master that I was healthy, no broken bones or illness, and not pregnant; that I had been delivered in whole condition. Like a delivery man showing a customer the condition of a product before money was exchanged. 

“Everything in order, Director?” 

“Yes, she is.”

“One moment and we’ll have the tag implanted.”

My head was bowed and the back of my shirt was pulled down to show reveal meaty part of my shoulder. The tip of a thick needle touched the skin and then pierced through several layers where a tag was inserted. It was a struggle not to flinch from the sharp pain. It was like microchipping a pet. One scan and they would know who I belonged to if I should run away. I didn’t doubt that it couldn’t track my movement also. 

“For a small fee we can include a birth control implant. Her species is genetically compatible with Galra.”

“No need.”

I released a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

The shackles were removed and a bag was thrust into my hands. It was toiletries and clothes for myself that was included in the opening price. Then the Director, my Master, was saluted (Vrepit Sa) and I followed him from the station, or I followed his lower body. As curious as I was to see him, I wasn’t going to fuck this up by being accused of brazenness. 

His voice was low, but carried without being raised. He didn’t wear the usual armor I’ve seen more Galra wear, but then again, picking me up was an afternoon errand. He led me to a hover car and before I could wonder whether I needed to get in the front or backseat, he opened the passenger side for me as he walked around to the driver’s side.

The seat was meant for larger bodies and my feet hang above the floor. With the bag on my knees the harness crisscrossed my chest and adjusted to my smaller frame. I almost forgot myself and looked at him when he asked for my name.

“Jodi, sir,” I said. 

If he didn’t like my name, then he could change it to something else. Slaves are designated by numbers and codes. Our names could be changed like household pets. 

He made no comment. Maybe he nodded, or made an expression, I don’t know was I kept my eyes were still downward. Maybe his wife might have something to say about my name. 

***

The drive was a half hour of silence. I entertained myself by looking out the window and imagining what I was going to find when we arrived. There were two kids, but how old? Little kits that’ll need a lot of attention or older school age kits that can take care of themselves? Will the mother be lazy and expect me to do all the work or will she be a control freak and breath down my neck to make sure I kept her house perfectly clean, exactly the way she wanted it? I had dealt with both during my time in foster care system. 

In the foster system, if you were a baby or little kid, you were fond over, but if you were a big kid or teen, then you were the help. I had been babysitter, housekeeper, cook, and errand girl for different foster parents, my mother, and her long line of boyfriends. I’ve been cleaning houses, changing diapers, preparing bottles, watching kids, and cooking meals since I was eight. This would be no different.

God, I couldn’t have been more wrong.

***

Just like neighborhoods on Earth, the Galra suburban neighborhood with houses sitting next to each other along a sandstone street. However, unlike neighborhoods on Earth, the houses were angular with sharp edges, like knives shoved into the ground. I could see people outside of their houses and a lot of them were wearing white slave clothing like mine. One was tending a garden, another was minding little kits scampering around a backyard playset, and a woman was trudging up the street carrying an armful of groceries. 

The hovercar landed on a small strip of sandstone as a driveway. My heart pounded in my throat, knowing this was going to be my home from now on. At least, until my new masters tire of me and sell me or give me away. Not so different from foster care.

He still didn’t say anything as he opened the doors and without any sign from him, I followed him inside the house. 

“Daddy!” A little voice cried when he opened the door. 

A small Galra girl dashed to the director, smacking into his legs before he scooped her up. I was able to look up high enough to watch her settle on his hip without it being inappropriate. She was a steel pink color with bright blue irises against golden sclera eyes. Her dress was a simple smock which carried some food stains from an early breakfast. There was a little bow tucked behind of her ears and her hair was brushed back into a loose tail. A long furry tail extended from beneath the skirt and hung over her father’s arm. A purr rippled through her in pleasure under her father’s attention. 

Then she noticed me and stared with wide eye curiosity. The Director said, “This is Jodi, the new servant. Jodi, this is Alli.”

“Hello, Alli,” I said. It seemed I was going to be allowed to keep my name and I didn’t have to address the children as master. At least, not in the house.

“Where are her ears?” Alli asked, still staring.

“Right here,” I said lifting my hair up to reveal an ear. 

Alli squinted at it which still had healed marks from where I had them pierced years ago. Then she reached forward to fondle my cloud of corkscrew curls. Her small claws fingers pat my crown. “Her head is fluffy, Daddy.”

“Go play with Lira while I show Jodi around.,” the Director said lowering the girl on the floor.

She looked as if she was going to pout, but she flounced away into a room where she had came from. Standing, unseen before now was another woman wearing white. There were two short horns cresting her brow and her skin was as pale as ivory. With two daunting blue eyes, she looked me over and then followed the girl into the side room. 

As if sensing my question, he said, “Lirna is being borrowed from next door to watch over Alli until you’re settled.” 

The Director showed me around the house and told me what my duties would be. Unlike the outside, the house’s interior was smooth angles and little to no corners. I was expecting huge rooms with opulent decor, but the rooms were smaller and numerous with a bedroom for each member of the family, including a nursery for the new arrival. The decor was surprisingly sparse with the customary Imperial symbol hanging on a wall in the living room. He showed me the kitchen and dictated that I would mostly be preparing meals for the children as he tended to take his meals at work and would eat self-prepared meals at home which he ate in his office. The living room served as a play area for Alli and I was to put away her toys in the evening and clean it. 

His eldest son, Matrim, was in his room studying and wasn’t to be disturbed. I was to bring his meals to his room so he can eat and study in quiet. It was part of my job to make sure that Alli and the new baby didn’t break his concentration. Studying was serious business for a Galra kit his age. Competition to get into good schools was fierce and the Galra did not practice nepotism. Matrim could be related to one of the High Commanders directly under the Emperor Himself and he’d have some advantages, but he’d still have to start from the bottom. 

I listened as the Director explained about the house, showing me the cleaning supplies were stored and said tomorrow a neighbor’s servant will show me how to get to the store for grocery shopping. My room was a closet with a small, comfortable looking cot and enough space for me to put away my extra clothes. 

“You won’t be sleeping in this room often,” he said and in my surprised, I almost looked directly at him. I twitched my eyes down just in time, but he noticed.

“Follow me,” he said. I couldn’t see whether he was angry or amused by my near indiscretion, but his voice remained neutral. 

He took me to the central room of the house. It was clear of any furniture and decor, except for the center of the room which was a round dip in the floor. It looked like a large kiddie pool filled with cushions and sheets. I recognized it as a nest, a place where the family sleeps together like a pile of puppies. I had learned about it in the training manuals as a lot of Galra still practice this age old tradition back when they were warring tribes on their home planet. It let’s them bond with family when they weren’t out warring or hunting and it was still practiced today with small children and when they became older they graduated to sleeping in their own rooms.

I was to sleep here? In the family’s sleeping room as if I were part of the family?

“You’re confused. Come with me and I will explain.” 

I followed him to his office, a room I was forbidden to enter without his permission and it was also my job to keep the kids away from it. As I followed him inside, I realized for the first time I hadn’t seen the mother nor had she been mentioned. Sudden trepidation came over me as the door clicked shut behind me. 

The office was the most decorative out of any room here. The chair was comfortable, the desk polished and cleaned, and Galra symbols of power stood as sentinels at the walls. This room was decorated because this is where he brought associates from work to discuss important matters. I expected him to take a seat behind the desk and tell me to sit in the lone chair in the room. 

No, he chose the room because it granted privacy, not to show off his power to me. He didn’t have to. I was the slave and he was the master. There was no need for show. 

“What were you told about my family after the auction?”

“You’re a family of four with a new baby - I mean kit, on the way.”

He was quiet for a moment of contemplative silence. My mind raced with questions. DId the mother pass away? What happened to the baby? Was this now a family of three I was serving?

“My wife - Alli and Matrim’s mother, no longer live in this house. We are divorcing.” He said this as if he was stating what the weather will be tomorrow.

The words ‘I’m sorry’ rose, but fell from my lips. Divorce in Galra culture was more common and accepted than it was on Earth. It was usually settled civilly with little to no tears involved. Galra will divorce their spouse to marry a higher ranking member of the Hierarchy and the deserted spouse won’t fault them their choice. If they wanted to be worthy of their spouse, then they should have excelled in their field. Scandals in the military or work is good cause for a spouse to cut loose and run so as not to have their name tainted.

“Once she gives birth, she will move in with her new husband and the kit will be brought here.”

Damn, when Galra separate, they do it literally. Everything is separated, houses, money, and kids. There was no lengthy divorce procedures with lawyers haggling over possessions and houses, and nor was there the ugliness of custody battles over kids. That was why the house seemed so bare of decorations. She had taken all her things with her when she left, but the Director was getting the kids, even the newborn baby. 

Wait, if she’s not going to live here and the baby comes here . . .

He must have noticed me connecting the dots as he said, “Yes, you’re to act as Surrogate.”

I couldn’t stop the sudden intake of air through my nose. I had came here believing I was going to be doing chores while the mother cared for a new baby, or watch the older kids while the newborn slept or nurse. This was a whole different level than being a housekeeper and babysitter working under a housewife. 

A Surrogate takes the place of a mother for a newborn kit. Usually it's done when the mother has died, goes on a military tour, or in this case, leaves the family. Galra kits tend to cling to their parents in their early years, especially the mother. Without the maternal bond, they don’t fair well at all and are prone to sickness and weak growth. So a Surrogate is introduced to the kit shortly after birth. Some of the richer households can afford to hire on a Galra surrogate, but others tend to prefer to have aliens fulfill the role. 

If the kit accepts the Surrogate then all is good, the baby has a mother and the Surrogate has a position within the house. However, if the kit rejects me . . . shit, my position here won’t be assured. He’ll need to find another potential Surrogate quick and there would be no need to keep me around. After auction, there’s a one week grace period to see if the servant is a good fit in the household. If not, then the master can return an unharmed slave for a full refund and there’s no telling where I’ll end up if that happens. Returned slaves are considered failures who couldn’t perform the necessary work of their station, regardless of whether it was their fault or not they were sent back. My value will drop and I could end up working in the back of a kitchen or laboring away in a farm. And getting sent to a labor camp might be in the cards after all.

He let me absorb all of this before continuing, “Alli and Matrim’s mother is due to give birth tomorrow.”

I didn’t know whether to be relieved or upset that my fate will be decided so soon. God, to think it would all be decided by whether a newborn Galra likes me or not was chilling my blood.


	34. Shiro, Bridget

**Shiro**

 

The pain was a constant reminder he was not dead. It ebbed in his guts and burned his skin. His tongue felt cracked from thirst and the agony in his head all but stave off the thoughts and dreams. Maybe this was Hell. Migo killed him and he was paying for all the lives he been forced to take in the arena.

Something touched his lips and cold Heaven poured over his tongue and into his mouth. He swallowed, choking, but it gave him the strength to push through the pain for more. The water source was being taken away. He reached out and grasped a wrist, pulling the water to his mouth for another series of quick swallows.

“Shiro . . .” A voice said, soft and with a gentle brogue. “You’ll make yourself sick.”

He stopped drinking, panting while wet drops clung to his lips. He licked those away and then opened his eyes. Light stabbed through into his eyes, feeding the migraine to ignite his brain. He moaned and pressed the heels of his hands against them to block out the light. A soft moan leaves his lips as even that action causes pain.

A cool hand touched his brow cooling the hot flesh there. “You’re burning up with fever.”

It took him longer than it should to remember the name of the person bringing him so much relief. “Br-Bridget.”

“Yes, it’s me,” she said bringing a cup with a straw to his lips again. “Drink slowly, please.”

Again, sweet cold water was imbibed, but with slow sips. When he drained the glass, Bridget refilled the cup from a metal pitcher and he drank that. When he finished, he was able to stand the light, but it was all blurry. He blinked several times until he could see Bridget sitting beside him.

He barely recognized her without the layers of velvet and silk and her face painted. Her hair was tied back in a loose tail of curls and she wore a simple, modest clothes. There were dark tired circles were beneath her tired eyes. Her lips pressed together in a smile or a suppressed grimace.

“How do you feel?” She asked him as she offered him more water.

He shook his head, waving away the water. “Like I survived my organs being stirred like cake batter.”

Bridget made a soft choked sound. It may have been laughter or a sob, he couldn’t tell. “Don’t say that. They had to clone new organs for you.”

Another thing the Galra had taken and replaced with their superior technology. How much of him was going to be left by the time this hell ended?

When his eyes adjusted to the light and he realized that he wasn’t in the slave pits' medical center, or better known as the morgue to the occupants. This was actually a medical facility with a clean bed where his hands were unrestrained. He raised them above his face to marvel at this unwarranted sense of freedom.

“Where are we?”

“An actual hospital outside of the arena,” Bridget said. “Ulaz operated on you. He says you’ll have a fever for a day or so, but you’ll be fine.”

Outside of the arena? They actually went through the trouble of saving his life by cloning new organs for him? Why all this if they were going to send him back into the arena?

Maybe he spoke out loud or the question was plain on his face for Bridget said, “You’re not going back to the arena. At least, that’s my impression from this.”

For the first time, he noticed he wasn’t wearing the black and purple prison garb he had become so accustomed. He was shirtless with only thin white pants for modesty. Monitoring equipment stuck to his chest and sides while what looked like an IV dripped fluid into his wrist. “What are they going to do with me?”

“I don’t know,” Bridget said with regret edging her words. “It was an order by the Emperor, Himself.”

“I take it that is unusual?”

“I never heard it done before, but when the Emperor wants something, He gets it.”

And Zarkon was the reason why they met in the first place. Was this a game for the immortal tyrant or some plan? He didn’t trust it, but he could take some relief from it.

“How long has it been since Migo?” he asked.

“About a week. Ulaz has been treating you since then. He’s considered the expert on human medicine after studying you and treating me.”

“You know him personally?” It was more of a statement than a question. She said the name so casually without the lilt of respect she had when she mentioned other Galra.

“He’s my doctor,” she said after a moment’s hesitation.

She’s lying or she’s not telling him something. It wasn’t worth pursuing. Right now he needed to recover and find out what the Galra had planned for him next. Maybe later, Bridget will feel comfortable to share what she wouldn’t tell him now.

Fatigue was pulling down to sleep again. With heavy eyelids, he looked at her, “How long can you stay?”

“I don’t know. You regained consciousness a while back and they had me brought here to see you. I . . . I want to think they’ll let me stay.”

“I can’t stay awake . . .”

“You should sleep. You’ll recover faster with rest,” she said, her words empty. Recover for what? “I’ll stay with you as long as they’ll let me.”

Her hand was in his, the cyborg's hand. He couldn’t her warmth as he would with his flesh and blood hand, but he could feel the pressure there. His fingers curled around hers and he found himself easing back into a deep sleep.

***

**Bridget**

 

I was only down in the lower levels for two days when I was summoned to Madame Floentha’s office. My heart seized up, knowing she was going to personally tell me when my appointment with Prorok was so she can see the fear and remorse in my eyes.

Instead of seeing her sitting contented behind the desk smoking a cheroot, she was pacing back and forth in front with eyes blazing with indignation. I stood among her many houseplants and waited quietly with mounting curiosity. What had her so frazzled? I knew it wasn’t something I had done as I had kept my head low in the lower levels.

Finally, she gave me a fierce look. “A shuttle is picking you up in an hour. Go to your room and get ready. Dress casual and above all, behave!”

This isn’t an appointment with a patron, not with Prorok. Never before had I dressed casually for a patron. “What’s happening?”

“You’ll be happy,” she said with a dry laugh. “You get to keep your Champion. You’re to visit him in the hospital.”

I stared, completely stunned. I had visited patrons outside of Zenana before, but not when they in the planetside hospital. And certainly not someone who couldn’t pay the fees for a courtesan and when Madame Flo was unhappy about it. She ruled Zenana with absolute power and only those higher than she can overrule her. That could only mean . . .

Fear-stricken me, eclipsing the unease. But why? Why would He order this?

Without another word, I hasten from the office and returned to my room to shower and change into the casual clothing I wore around my room with soft felt shoes. A sentry collected me and I was taken to the shuttle bays and taken planetside.

***

The guilt had been choking me, making food taste like dirt in my mouth and any small pleasure seemed wasteful on me. My moods switched from fury at Ulaz for not trusting me or utter contrition over ruining the plan to free Shiro. How could I face him knowing I’m the reason he wasn’t on his way back to Earth right now? That his two years of hell could have been over if not for me. Would it be possible for me to look him in the eye and not melt into a puddle of tears and guilt?

The room was a bright white color matching the bed Shiro occupied. Ulaz was checking his vitals, tapping notes onto a datapad. The only reveal of his surprise at seeing me was a quick rise and fall of his brows. Then he questioned the Sentry.

“Has she been sanitized?”

“Yes, Physician Ulaz,” the sentry said in a clipped masculine voice.

“Did Zenana send her?”

I answered this question. “No, sir. Madame Floentha said I was to come here.”

Like me, he knew that Madame Floentha wouldn’t have sent me unless her hand was forced and there were not many who wielded enough power to influence Zenana. His eyes betrayed no emotion except for slight contempt for my presence. “Keep out of the way of the caretakers and do not touch any equipment. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” I said bowing my head in a respectful dip.

The first day, I sat, watching Shiro sleep and listened to the hums of the machines keeping him alive. Whenever Ulaz or a nurse came in, I rose and stood at the wall, well out of the way, keeping quiet, but watchful. When they took Shiro for surgery, a sentry brought in a cot so I could sleep in the same room and fresh clothes. I showered and changed and ate the meal brought to me. I wasn’t worried about Shiro’s life as he was in good hands with Ulaz who used the most advanced medical technology in the universe.

He woke up days later but came in and out of consciousness. I gave him water to drink and made sure the pitcher by his bed always carried fresh cold water. It was the least I could do for him. I kept a smile on my face, taking joy in his being alive but fearful. I was always fearful of his finding out what I had done to him.

With me being a willing able bodied carer, they left the job of seeing to Shiro’s needs to me. I bathed him to bring his fever down. I checked the readings on the machines for any drastic changes. I spoke to him whenever he stirred ill at ease. Sometimes he talked in his sleep and flung up his arms to fend off a blow as if he were reliving the fight with Migo. And sometimes he called Keith’s name.

I laid my hands on his face and shoulder, soothing him with soft words, reassuring him that he was safe and Keith was home safe too. Shiro had spoken a lot about the orphan boy he had taken under his wing. I hoped for Shiro’s safe that I was correct in saying Keith was well.

Zenana was never too far behind me. As my skin started to twitch from withdrawal, Ulaz called me into another room and inserted a fresh ampule of drugs into my collar. The sharp sting and hiss of the chemicals forced into my flesh brought a fresh wave of relief to an anxiety I had chalked up to worry over Shiro. I sighed, feeling wonderful bliss gather me up into a bundle. It was ten minutes before I trusted myself to return to Shiro’s side.

Shiro was sitting propped up on pillows and looking at me with a tired lucidity of someone who had endured a long fever and was tired of resting.

“What’s the damage?” he asked me, completely forgetting what I had told him before when he had first awakened.

“Your small intestine was complete perforated all and your stomach and kidneys were cut up. They replaced what was damaged with organs clones from your DNA so you shouldn’t worry about any rejection.”

Shiro placed a hand on his stomach and I knew he was thinking about another part of him had been destroyed and replaced by the Galra. As if he were some vehicle getting parts replaced as they ruined. Why were the Galra so intent on keeping him alive when they have so casually killed or tossed aside countless gladiators before?

“And they are letting you visit me like this?” Shiro asked, knowledgeable about Zenana’s ways to understand this was unusual.

“Yes and no,” I said. My hands folded on my knees with nothing to do. I itched to be cleaning something, giving him water, or even tucking him into bed. “Madame Flo wasn’t happy about my coming here, but her hands were tied.”

Shiro rested his head on the pillow. He was able to stay awake longer, but he tired quickly as his body was still healing from the fatal damage. “I guess our escape plan is a bust.”

I stiffen, frighten that someone overheard. We were alone in the room, but that didn’t mean there weren’t ears or eyes around. I lay a hand on his forearm in a motion of comfort, but tighten my grip in warning. “The Empire cares for us. What would we do without it?”

His tired eyes brighten with consternation and then comprehension. His hand grasped mine, telling me he understood, but the tight line of his lips as if he were biting back a contradiction, revealed his unhappiness. We sat together in silence, taking comfort in the other’s presence. Being around him was warm, like being in my father’s presence, an aura of safety and goodwill. Shiro had that effect on people and this is the first time I’ve noticed it.

 

**Shiro**

It hurt as he imagined it would if something stirred up his organs with a huge knife. Any movement in his abdominal area such as breathing or sitting up was agony and he had the feeling the doctors here was skimping on the pain medicine. He was used to pain, but he was ill at ease about being immobile. It was an odd feeling to be so sedentary and rely on others to bring him food and drink.

He wanted to move, to walk around the room, but words from an old military physician warned him against trying. Moving your body before its ready can cause more damage than the initial injury. You can not feel it at first, but you could be doing permanent damage to yourself.

Bridget made a good nurse. Water was always within his reach and she would spoon feed him if he let her. He had been hospitals before, wounded in combat or while testing prototypes for the Garrison. With it being a military hospital, the staff had been top-notch, eager to return him to the field. Once, a nurse developed a crush on him and practically doted on him during his stay. Bridget doted on him, but not out of any affection. She wouldn’t meet his eyes and she was quiet, thinking before she answered questions in a guarded voice. It wasn’t that she was hiding something, but she was afraid. Afraid of him finding out or his reaction if he did?

 

**Bridget**

 

Ulaz didn’t speak to me nor look at me. Was he keeping his cover as a disinterested doctor or was he still mad at me? I wanted to ask him, but I took had to keep my cover.

Shiro was sleeping when I was summoned to an examination room. I thought it was Ulaz calling me to somewhere private where we could talk, but Ulaz wasn’t there when the door opened. A Galra was standing at the counter prepping a device. He wore the uniform of the medical profession, like Ulaz, but it was different. It was made of darker material and I didn’t recognize the insignia on the front, though it did look familiar. He was furless with a sharp crest from the middle of his brow to the base of the skull. When he turned to look at me, his eyes were small and slanted downward with red irises.

“Sit on the table and we’ll be finished in a few ticks.”

I climb onto the exam table and waited, confused and unnerved. I had become accustomed to my monthly checkups in Zenana, but they were usually performed by Ulaz or an assistant and I had already received my monthly check up last week. If they were concerned about me passing an infection or disease onto Shiro, they picked a fine time to exam me after I’ve been living in the room with him for days.

The examination went as I expected. He checked my temperature, looked down my throat, shined a light into my eyes, and scanned me for any abnormalities. Once he was satisfied I was healthy, he opened a small case and took out what looked like a thick metal cuff.

“Stay still,” he said bringing it over to me. “I’m going to collect a sample.”

I had blood drawn before, many times, but not like this. Before they had used a simple needle to pierce my vein, this medic closed the cuff around my arm, just above the bend of my elbow. He tapped a seal on the side and the thing actually charged up. Before I could think to ask what it was doing, I felt what it was doing. Pain lanced through my arm, making my fingers feel numb. I shrieked, clawing at the cuff to get it off, but it stayed sealed and in place. Then it began to burn and smelled flesh cooking. I barely retained a scream. The medic caught the cuff just as it unlocked itself.

I looked down at my arm and gaped in open mouth horror at what it had done. A circle of flesh was missing from my skin. Filling the divot was cauterized film that sealed in any bleeding. Weeping, I lightly touched it and moaned when white-hot pain made my fingers twitch.

“That wasn’t so bad,” he said as if I had kicked up a fuss over having my finger pricked or received an injection. Then he applied a soothing salve to the wound and wrapped a silk cloth around it before dismissing me. He collected the horrible cuff and placed it back into its case.

I hurried from the room, wiping at my eyes. Thankfully, Shiro was still asleep so I slipped into the restroom and washed my face to hide that I’ve been crying. There was nothing I could do to hide the bandage. My sleeve wasn’t long enough to hide it, making me long for the wardrobe of long sleeve shirts in my closet in Zenana.

There was no help for it, but to pretend it wasn’t there and hope he won’t noticed. It was a foolish hope as Shiro was a very perceptive man and he noticed it instantly upon waking an hour later.

“Bridget, what’s that on your arm?”

“I bumped into something and the doctor patched it up,” I said nonchalantly, but it was such a weak story, it didn’t hold any water and I was quite embarrassed by it.

So embarrassed, I didn’t resist when he took my arm and slowly unwrapped the bandage. I looked away, not wanting to see his face, but I heard the sudden intake of air through his teeth when he saw it.

“Did you bump into a giant cigar? What happened? Who did this?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said taking my arm away and restored the bandaged. “Fretting over it won’t help and there’s nothing you or I can do about it. If they want to help or hurt us, we have no say in the matter.”

He rolled his head back, his jaw tight and eyes hard as flint. The helplessness was gnawing at him again. If this was Earth, before the Galra, he could have stormed into an office and demanded answers or lodge a complaint. He could press charges or even found the man responsible and beat him bloody. I could be taken to a safe place, a shelter, or anywhere away from here. Now he was bedridden with agony burning through his organs and anything he could do to help would be dismissed as a slave acting out of turn. He would be punished and I could be punished also.

And he could have been free. Again, I was sickened and the burn on my arm no longer offended me. I deserved it for what I had robbed him. My tongue itched to tell him the truth, to confess what I had taken from him. Yet, my lips remained seal together, refusing to let me speak. I could tolerate being harmed by Galra, even raped by them, but I couldn’t handle Shiro hating me. I couldn’t stand for him to give me the fierce look he carries when he was angry at our captors.

***

Shiro wasn’t the only one to notice the state of my arm. Hours later, Ulaz called me to another exam room. Remembering what had happened the last time I was summoned, I edged into the room in trepidation, but immensely relieved when I saw it was him.

“You can speak freely here,” he told me after the door had shut and locked behind me. “Tell me what happened.”

As I described the odd examination and the gruesome cuff, he examined the burn on my arm and lightly traced it with a claw tip. “I’ll put Fast Heal on it and it should be gone within a few days.”

“What was that thing he put on my arm and why?” I demanded as I sat in an exam chair.

He collected the medicine in silence, moving in that graceful precision that made him seem surreal to my eyes. “It takes both blood and skin samples. Do not worry. He’s an ambitious scientist taking the opportunity to take samples from two new species. He probably stole Shiro’s samples when I wasn’t looking.”

I didn’t believe him. Ulaz was too careful not to be aware of anything missing or taken from him and wouldn’t be passive enough to let dismiss it. “Did Shiro get a burn in his arm too?”

He didn’t reply, his face stony as he applied Fast Healing gel to the burn and applied a fresh bandage. “Keep this covered for the rest of the day, but tomorrow take off the bandage and let it breathe. Only cover it up when you bathe.”

I caught his hand and squeezed his fingers. “Tell me! Why won’t you tell me?”

Ulaz met my eyes and peered at them for a long moment. “It took a sample of your quintessence.”

I blinked in utter surprise. “Quintessence is used to fuel ships and medicine.” And in some drinks such as the Emperor’s Blood.

“And where do you think it comes from?” Ulaz said, a slight vehemence in his voice. “That we harvest it from stars? No, quintessence is the essence of life itself. It’s found in all living things; planets, plants, animals, and people. The Galra harvest it from conquered planets along with other resources, but quintessence is what fuels the Empire. The Emperor is able to live for eons because of regular infusions of the quintessence; it’s why Galra longevity skyrocketed from a few centuries to thousands of years. Why do you think it makes such a potent medicine? Fast Heal contains trace amounts of quintessence and look, your burn is already healing.”

Sure enough, I noticed the burn no longer hurt as much as before. All those scratched and lacerations Ulaz had applied Fast Heal were gone within hours. I had always believed it was because of the advance alien medicine, but not it seems there was more to it.

“But why does he want a sample of my . . . quintessence?” The word had become foreign once told it was part of myself.

“As I said before, he’s just an ambitious scientist trying to find a discovery that’ll elevate him. Let me worry about him. You’re going back to Zenana today.”

“But Shiro . . .”

“I’ll look after him. He’s no longer in danger and you should be more concerned for yourself. You have an appointment with Prorok in two quintant.”

***

**Shiro**

 

“I’m sorry,” the voice was so full of pain, he wondered if her burn was hurting. Then he saw her eyes and could read the unmeasurable guilt in them.

She had told she was to be taken back to Zenana today. He knew that she wouldn’t be allowed to remain, but hearing she was leaving was disquieting. Every time he heard the word, Zenana, it harkened unwanted images of what was happening to her in that place.

“It’s not your fault,” he said, laying a hand across hers. “You can’t help where they take you.”

The woman shook her head, tendrils of red hair falling across her face like the long leaves of a willow tree. “Takor was the one who hurt you. Before your fight with Migo.”

He swallowed, remember the hate in the Galra’s mismatched eyes. “He paid someone to let him have a few minutes alone with me while I was handcuffed.”

Misery flooded her green eyes and he regretted telling her anything. He should have lied and said he had angered a guard or gotten into a fight with another prisoner. Yet, it was possible that Takor might have told her himself of what he had done.

“I’m so sorry,” she said again, a tear rolling down her cheek. “He . . . He developed a crush on me since I came to Zenana. He could tolerate me being with superior Galra, but it was too galling for him to stomach me being with my own kind.”

 _I’ve taken care of her since Earth._ Takor’s words echoed through his head. Takor had known Bridget since before she came to Zenana. Why was she lying to him? She didn't look at him as she spoke, her eyes on her fidgeting hands. Was he telling the truth about her husband and baby?

_If you survive the match, ask her, Champion, ask her about what happened to her husband. He’s her first victim after all._

He didn’t believe everything Takor said. But he was certain that Bridget was avoiding speaking about her past and that was fine with him. If it was as painful as he suspected, then he refused to cause her more pain by pushing for answers. He was more concerned about the future than the past.

“You watch out for him,” he said touching her arm until she looked at him. “See if you can’t get another escort.”

Bridget sighed with a slight roll of her eyes. “I’ve been trying to get him replaced since day one. Nothing I say matters. As long as he does his job, and that’s seeing me returned to Zenana in one piece, he stays on as my escort. This may not be any comfort; liaisons between guards and courtesan are forbidden. I almost wish he would try something with me so I can have his arse shipped off somewhere else. Far away from me.”

He could hear the bitterness and resentment edging her words. It was he had surmised before when he met her. There was a history between her and Takor, a very bad history, and it had something to do with Devin Walsh. “Just stay safe. We’ll see each other again.”

It was a promise he made with all the seriousness of a blood pact. He would see her again even if he had to break out whatever cage they put him in next. Bridget gave him a sad smile that told him that she believed his words but didn’t have faith that reality would allow them to bear fruit. She kissed his cheek, whispered into his ear to be careful, and followed the waiting sentry from the room.

Her clean scent lingered in the air around him reminding him of hand soap and shampoo. Both pleasant scents that reminded him of home. Bridget may have been from a different country and a civilian, but everything about her made him long for Earth. The familiarity with her was almost overwhelming after two years among aliens.

His eyes grew heavy with fatigue. As much as he rather stay away, he understood his body needed rest to heal so he can be ready for whatever came next. Within minutes, Takashi Shirogane was sleeping a blissful dreamless sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Any kudos or comments are much appreciated. They are the fuel to my creativity and motivation.
> 
> Follow me for any updates or dabbles on Tumblr: RebelCourtesan
> 
> NOTE: I moved Bridget - What Came Before into it's own story. It's part of the series Hope, Faith, and Love. This is to avoid confusion between the timeline plot points.


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